


something inside this heart has died (you're in ruins)

by skywalking-across-the-galaxy (BadWolfGirl01)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s04e13 Escape From Kadavo, Everyone Needs A Hug, First Kiss, Getting Together, Healing, Kadavo, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Post-Episode: s04e13 Escape From Kadavo, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Slavery, Torture, but i mean for Obi-Wan Kenobi it's pretty kriffing close, declarations of feelings?, it's kinda graphic i guess?, not a love confession, now it is ah, slightly longer than that, this started out as a oneshot, working title for this fic was "Cody in Kadavo"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-10-11 11:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17445893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadWolfGirl01/pseuds/skywalking-across-the-galaxy
Summary: When his General comms him, asking for his help in a vitally important infiltration mission to Zygerria, searching for the lost Togruta colonists, Cody cannot refuse.He kits up in the awful, dark, heavy, impractical Zygerrian armor without complaint, helps Kenobi with his own straps and buckles, jams the tall, heavy, horrible helmet on his head and stands in perfect parade rest and stares out the viewscreen.He doesn’t like this plan. It’s extremely risky, there’s so much that could go wrong - hells, for all they know the Togrutas could’ve already been sold and this whole thing is just a waste of their time. Even if everything still somehow goes perfectly according to plan, they’re supposed to give Commander Tano to the Zygerrian Queen as a gift, and Cody’s seen the outfit they’ve got her in.[or: what if Cody went along on the mission to Zygerria, instead of Rex?]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i've been working on this first chapter for a month. i think the second chapter will mainly deal with the rescue and then aftermath - i'm not entirely sure, i may end up with three chapters, so watch for the chapter count to change. i hope i won't be too slow with the next chapter of fic, but i'm mostly hoping that getting feedback and response here will speed me up :P
> 
> title is taken from the song "21 guns" by green day, which i feel fits this whole scenario very well.

When his General comms him, asking for his help in a vitally important infiltration mission to Zygerria, searching for the lost Togruta colonists, Cody cannot refuse.

He kits up in the awful, dark, heavy,  _ impractical _ Zygerrian armor without complaint, helps Kenobi with his own straps and buckles, jams the tall, heavy,  _ horrible _ helmet on his head and stands in perfect parade rest and stares out the viewscreen.

He doesn’t like this plan. It’s  _ extremely _ risky, there’s so much that could go wrong - hells, for all they know the Togrutas could’ve already been sold and this whole thing is just a waste of their time. Even if everything still somehow goes perfectly according to plan, they’re supposed to give Commander Tano to the Zygerrian Queen as a  _ gift, _ and Cody’s seen the outfit they’ve got her in.

He thinks it’s a good thing his  _ ori’vod _ isn’t here - Rex would  _ not _ approve of Commander Tano’s role in all this. Hells, Cody doesn’t approve  _ either, _ but he’s not going to say anything. None of them are really  _ safe, _ and Commander Tano’s not the only one with a risky part to play. Skywalker’s supposed to somehow charm the Zygerrian Queen into, if at all possible, revealing the location of the Togruta colonists; Kenobi and Cody himself are supposed to search through the slave markets and see if they can pick up any traces of the colonists. It’s a dangerous, dangerous plan.

“The 501st, 212th, and 104th are on standby,” Skywalker informs Cody, as their freighter makes its descent to the planet. “They’re all watching for distress calls - if there’s any problems, send a signal out, and we’ll have to just find the colonists the slightly harder way. Oh, and remember Beta.”

Cody  _ suspects _ Skywalker’s talking about Plan Beta, not Cody’s 501st  _ vod, _ so he nods. Plan Alpha is- well. The chances of being discovered are high, especially since Skywalker, Kenobi, and Tano all have very recognizable faces (thanks, HoloNet), and Cody’s a clone. That’s why they’ve got a backup plan, consisting of the Jedi getting their sabers from Skywalker’s astromech and fighting and running.

It’s not exactly a foolproof plan, either. Hence why Cody’s worried.

“Yes, Anakin, we all know,” Kenobi says, wryly. 

Cody sends him a quick message in GAR-sign:  _ I have a bad feeling about this. _

Kenobi just nods, presses his lips together a bit. Not good.

It turns out that Cody’s  _ right. _

The first part of the plan goes relatively smoothly; they make it into what appears to be a main market square, and encounter the Prime Minister right away - Commander Tano’s an idiot and almost breaks cover, but Skywalker twists it to their advantage, and then he and the Commander and the astromech are being escorted to see the Queen, leaving Cody and Kenobi free to go explore. They find the Togruta governor in one of the slave pits, but he apparently doesn’t know what’s happened to the rest of his people.

That’s when things start to go wrong.

Kenobi breaks cover to get the governor out (Cody doesn’t  _ entirely _ blame him, Roshti looks in bad shape, but his General is honestly a  _ di’kut _ sometimes), they go to escape on one of the odd flying lizards, and Kenobi gets shot off its back, leaving Cody to guide the creature away. He doesn’t know where they’re going to take his General, just that they  _ will _ take him, and maybe Skywalker and Tano have already been compromised, and this whole mission was  _ such _ a bad idea, from the beginning, what made the Jedi Council think it’d be a good idea to send them to infiltrate the kriffing  _ Zygerrian Empire. _ They should’ve just karking stormed the place and forced the location of the Togrutas out of them.

He leaves the lizard in an alley between two towering buildings, listing over towards each other like drunk  _ vode, _ jams the stupid heavy helmet harder on his head and strides off for the auction arena. It seems likely that’s where he’ll find Skywalker and Tano, and if he can briefly rendezvous with them, update them on the situation, maybe they can get Kenobi’s location out of the Queen. And if she won’t tell, Cody has absolutely no problem with  _ forcing _ the intel out of her.

The auction arena’s balcony is crammed with rich sentients from all corners of the galaxy, and Cody’s no Jedi but he doesn’t need the Force to feel the anger and bloodlust pulsing through the air. He hopes Kenobi isn’t here, but what else would they do with him, if they recognized his face? And he’s one of the most well-known Jedi in the galaxy. The likelihood of them  _ not _ recognizing his face is even less than the likelihood of them  _ not _ selling him as a slave.

The Zygerrian Queen is sitting in a box overlooking the arena, and he sees Skywalker and Tano with her, as well as Skywalker’s astromech - good. Cody meets Skywalker’s eyes, nods once. He’ll be ready to put their plan into place.

The auction starts off with the Togruta governor, which immediately sets Cody on edge - if they’ve gotten Roshti back, then they’ve got Kenobi in there somewhere. Something  _ twists _ inside his chest at the thought of  _ his General _ stuck inside with those karking  _ mir’osike _ \- he forces it down, settles himself into stillness. Has to force back a flinch when the Queen stops the proceedings, when she announces a  _ special guest, _ when it’s  _ his Jedi _ being led cringing out into the sunlight, neat robes shredded and burnt and filthy, hugging his ribs with one arm and the other raised to protect his eyes. A hot twist of anger rises and he clenches his fist, his jaw, looks back at Skywalker again.

Skywalker has barely-disguised fury in his eyes, and Cody unclenches his fist, barely manages it, taps his hand against his leg in GAR sign:  _ ready. _

Skywalker nods.

And then the Queen is ordering him (asking, but it’s not a request) to  _ whip the Jedi, _ and the crowd screams it, and he was right, they want blood - and Skywalker isn’t the type to hurt his friends for the sake of a cover, and honestly this has gone on long enough.  _ Cody _ isn’t going to hurt his General  _ (his General) _ for the sake of a cover. So when Skywalker says  _ now! _ and snaps on the borrowed shockwhip, when Kenobi leaps up from his kneeling position and tackles the nearest Zygerrian, Cody responds. He yanks out the shitty Zygerrian blaster with its heavy, elaborate design, takes aim and fires, one-two-three, fells one-two-three guards. Runs, around a corner and through a pack of civilians, shoots down two more guards as Skywalker’s astromech sends the Jedi’s sabers flying to them. They can do this, cut and run - it won’t tell them where the Togrutas are, but at least they’ll be alive, right? They can come back with an army, with the 501st and the 212th both. That’s a better plan  _ anyway, _ Jedi Council be damned - this was kriffing  _ di’kutla. _

That’s about when the guard hits Cody from behind and tackles him  _ off the balcony. _

He just has time to pull his limbs and blaster in towards his stomach before he hits the ground, the impact jarring all the air from his lungs and knocking the helmet off his head.  _ Kriff, _ for a moment he can’t move, can’t breathe, he locks his hands around his blaster and wills energy back into his muscles because  _ a slow soldier is a dead soldier _ and he has to get  _ up- _ He fumbles to his knees, sees Skywalker and Kenobi struggling against some ten Zygerrians with shockwhips, sees Tano on her knees in the Queen’s box, sees-

_ Pain. _

He’s halfway to his feet when a livid yellow whip, like a bruise, coils around his arm, and he tries, he  _ tries, _ but electricity sears up into his shoulder, paralyzes him, and the blaster slips from nerveless fingers, and he jars back to his knees. Fights through the wave of burning pain to try and stagger forward - there’s a shockwhip wrapping around Kenobi, now, two of them, around  _ his General, _ and Cody has to get to him, has to-

The second whip catches Cody around his leg, the leg he’s got most of his weight on, and he can’t stay up this time, can’t even manage to bend his knees - he twists his face so the side of his head hits the dust-dry dirt first, so he can still, for a moment, watch what’s happening to the Jedi. He can just,  _ just _ see, through a haze of descending blackness, a third whip coiling around Kenobi, dragging him to the ground, and then there’s a surge of pain and  _ nothing. _

 

He wakes up in a ship.

That’s bad, probably.

There’s a metallic tang in his mouth (blood?) and his vision is blurry, his arms (when he tries to move them) are both too heavy and too light (they took his armor), and there’s something bulky and  _ wrong _ on his neck. He has to  _ get up, _ a slow soldier is a dead soldier, so he pushes himself to at least a seated position, looks around. The Togruta, Roshti, is slumped unconscious on the floor, and Cody’s General is sitting cross-legged, eyes closed, hands calmly on his knees even though he  _ has _ to be in pain, Cody’s arm and leg still burn like the shock whips are there. 

And there’s a  _ collar _ around his neck. A shock collar, Cody thinks.

His hands go to his own neck, instinctive, feel the shape of another collar there, and he swallows down a burst of fear. He can handle this - he  _ will _ handle this. He isn’t going to make this harder on his General than this will undoubtedly be.

He stays quiet, recognizes that Kenobi is meditating, knows that Kenobi probably knew the instant Cody woke up anyway. Sure enough, after another moment, there’s a quiet, “Hello, Cody.”

“General,” Cody acknowledges, tiredly, looks at the burns on his forearm and calf. He’d  _ known _ that Zygerrian stuff was shit armor, and this is the proof -  _ his _ armor would’ve protected him from the electricity. “We’re in a real mess this time, sir.”

“Seems that way,” Kenobi sighs. “Not to worry, though - as soon as we fail to report back in, they’ll come searching for us.”

“Sir,” Cody says, quietly, “somehow I don’t think a Zygerrian slave pit is going to be easy to find.”

“I was trying to look on the bright side of things, Cody.” Kenobi already sounds so  _ tired. _ When he shifts, just a bit, he flinches minutely.

What did they  _ do _ to him?

Cody thinks of how Roshti’s only been here a few days and he’s already in horrible shape, of shock whips and shock collars and electrostaffs, of  _ whip the Jedi or else die with him, _ and he thinks he knows.

“General,” he says, quietly, and his tone must be somber enough, because Kenobi opens his eyes and  _ looks _ at him, intense. “Don’t worry about me.”

Kenobi smiles, just a ghost. “I always worry about you, Cody.”

“I mean it, sir,” he says, a bit sharper. “I can handle myself. Focus on yourself and- the colonists.” He doesn’t want to say the last part, his General is more important than some Togrutas from a planet that’s not even part of the Republic, but- He shouldn’t think that way. Kenobi would scold him for it.  _ Kriffing hells. _

He’s  _ very _ grateful his  _ ori’vod _ isn’t here. Cody can block this out, can grit his teeth and bear it, can fight if he needs to, not fight if he shouldn’t - Rex would have a harder time, he thinks. But Cody is practiced at  _ not thinking, _ at shoving everything down into tight control where he doesn’t have to feel it, at keeping the cracks in his armor hairline-thin so no one but him knows they’re there. 

(The trouble with hairline cracks, is, of course, that they’re invisible - until a single, strong enough blow causes them to shatter. But Cody is, of course, very good at not thinking about that, too.)

“Cody-” Kenobi starts, patiently, but Roshti stirs and they both snap around to look at him, instinctive.

“Where are we?” the governor rasps, wearily, pushing himself to sit up, pain etching itself across his already-worn face.

“A ship,” Kenobi says, as calmly as he can, that low, quiet voice of his that always sets Cody at east - it’s probably the kriffing Force, knowing  his General. “A cargo freighter, I think. I’m not sure beyond that. My guess would be they’re taking us to wherever they keep their slaves. You said you didn’t know where your people were, Governor - I think we’re about to find out.”

“My people,” Roshti whispers, swallowing. “Can you help them?”

“I will do everything in my power,” Kenobi says, very solemn. “The Republic will not abandon them to their fate.”

Because their fate is tied to Kenobi’s, now, and Cody knows very well that the Republic and the Jedi will not (cannot afford to) abandon Kenobi to this. So.

If it were just him, just Cody, then that might be different.

Lucky for the Kiros colonists, he guesses.

They aren’t left alone with their thoughts for long - it’s been maybe twenty standard minutes (Cody isn’t sure, they took his wrist chrono along with the armor, which, shoddy as it was, was at least  _ some _ protection, and now he doesn’t even have that, feels like a snail without its shell) when the ship shudders to a shaky landing.  _ Freighters. _ Cody’s never liked them, they feel like buckets of bolts and scrap metal held together by nothing more than determination. He expects he’ll like them even less, now.

A few Zygerrians carrying buzzing electrostaffs with whip handles on their belts walk into the cargo hold, and one of them smacks Kenobi with the hand end of their staff, hard. Cody stifles a growl - fighting now won’t help. He will wait, will bide his time, and then he will make these slavers regret every single instant they laid their filthy hands (or electrostaffs, or shock whips) on his General.

When the guards get to him, Cody stands before they can prod him - this doesn’t stop the Zygerrian from jamming the non-electrified end of the electrostaff into the small of his back, shoving him forward. It  _ hurts, _ but Cody just grits his teeth and steps forward, offers an arm to Roshti to help him up.

Or tries to, at least. His guard just slams him forward with the electrostaff again,and Cody swallows and takes the hint, pulls his hand back, settles into perfect parade rest and strides forward a few paces. There’s a shuddering groaning sound, like a dying thing, the screech of durasteel-on-durasteel, and then the bay door grinds open. The too-bright sunlight on his face feels threatening more than comforting.

An overweight Zygerrian in a repulsorlift chair starts talking to Kenobi almost as soon as they’re fully out of the ship, but Cody focuses more on the Togrutas standing in rows in front of a massive metal facility, crouching like a bloated spider over a yawning pit. He doesn’t trust this, doesn’t trust the way the Zygerrian caresses the words  _ Educational Facility, _ doesn’t trust the leering smile on the Zygerrian’s face.

And then-

The Zygerrian presses a button on the arm of his chair and the metal floor opens up beneath a full row of Togrutas. And they fall.

Kenobi lunges forward with an arm outstretched, like he could gather up the threads of the Force and pull them all back, and Cody takes a step too, tugged by their screams -  _ this _ is not right, and it burns, and the hatred grows stronger. Stronger yet when the Zygerrian’s cruel smirk widens and he leans forward, says, “Now that I have your attention, Jedi, know that it is not only  _ you _ who will suffer for your defiance.”

Oh little  _ gods. _

The anger drains too fast, leaves ice-cold fear in its wake, because this -  _ this _ is how you break a Jedi, break  _ his _ Jedi, and Cody is a pawn in this game too, everyone is, and- He cannot let them use him against his General, he  _ can’t. _ He’ll fight, however hard he must, but they  _ will not use him. _

He signs a fast  _ sorry _ at his General as they’re shoved into a huddle with the rest of the Togrutas, all collared, all in so  _ much _ worse of shape than Roshti, universally keeping their eyes down and shoulders slumped. Nonthreatening, subservient. It makes Cody’s blood  _ boil, _ and yet the fear remains, shivering down his back like winter rain on Kamino - fear of the hollowness in their gazes, the emptiness in their gaits that screams  _ defeat. _

Fear of that same hollow emptiness in his eyes - in  _ Kenobi’s. _

He cannot let that happen.

_ Will not, _ most of him says, and yet a part of him whispers  _ don’t make promises you aren’t sure you can keep. _ (It sounds like Jango.)

(But Jango promised them all he’d be there, called them  _ ad’ike _ and taught them how to fight, and how to lose, and how to remember, singing the low songs of his people -  _ their _ people - in his rough voice. And then he left. So Cody doesn’t take advice on  _ promises _ from Jango karking Fett.)

Kenobi just smiles, that little sideways smile of his that’s  _ supposed _ to be a dry  _ don’t worry about it, everything’s fine, _ but that Cody’s seen through since the beginning, because in some ways he and his General have always been too alike, and Cody’s seen that smile in the mirror since he learned how to lie. And nothing is  _ fine, _ nothing  _ will  _ be fine, so it’s a futile effort - but then again, Kenobi’s always preferred to try and set them at ease. Even when they all know the cold truth.

It gives them a fiction to cling to, when everything hurts too much to accept the  _ reality, _ and that is one of the reasons Cody loves his General.

They’re straightened into a line, Roshti peeled away from him and Kenobi, sent in a single-file line through a dark doorway that looms like a gaping maw in front of them, swallowing each sentient that walks through it, inevitable, inescapable. Cody reaches for battle-stillness, deliberately relaxes his muscles one group at a time, steadies himself into calm, into nonchalance. It’s about as far from  _ true _ calm as can be, but it works, for the moment, keeps his heartrate from ratcheting up to a gallop and his breathing from shortening to a pant. Kenobi steps through the doorway first, and then it’s Cody’s turn, and there are Zygerrian guards on both sides with electrostaffs aimed at him - the business ends, this time - just in case he’s thinking about running.

Like he’d leave his Jedi behind in the  _ karking  _ place.

Excuse him, this  _ Educational Facility. _

He can’t  _ see, _ at first, when he steps through the door, everything is too dim to make out - he can just see the glow of molten metal through transparent piping, machinery backlit in a faint yellow light, smoke or steam or  _ something _ obscuring his vision even further. His eyes adjust quickly enough, and he tilts his head back to see metal catwalks with pipe railing, Zygerrian guards with electrostaffs and whips patrolling, guards down in the factory itself - that’s what this is, Cody realizes, looking at the piles of mined rock waiting to be shoveled into a cart, which, when full, is wheeled away and emptied into a refiner that, it appears, separates the ore from the slag and belches out the waste. There’s Togrutas everywhere: pushing the carts from machine to machine, shoveling raw stone into carts, shoveling  _ slag _ into carts, dumping the carts… the colonists he saw outside, he realizes.

_ Gods. _

He and Kenobi are escorted to a pair of shovels leaning against a tall cart, piles of broken rock on three sides of it, Governor Roshti and an unfamiliar woman holding shovels and slowly filling the cart with the stone. “Get to work, skugs,” the Zygerrian guard behind Cody barks, and Cody stiffens, has to shove down the urge to grab the shovel, spin, slam it into the guard’s knees and neck, back of the shoulders as he falls-

No. Not yet.

Soon. Cody will not wait and let this place destroy his Jedi. But he can’t fight, not until he knows more about this place, the layout and the capability of the guards and everything else. Defenses. His assets. His General still has the Force. They’ve got shovels, which are weapons, crude but effective, and the guards don’t seem to have blasters. Just shock whips and electrostaffs, which are enough without lightsabers, but-

Cody can’t think like that, though, or he won’t be able to stay upright.

He grabs his shovel and starts scooping up the shattered stone, dumping it into the cart, which barely has enough rock in it to cover the bottom, keeps a covert eye on Kenobi, who is leaning too much on his shovel, is wincing every time he stresses his burned back.

Cody will make them  _ pay _ for this.

The Zygerrian on his repulsorlift chair swoops in, smirking still, just moments after they begin to work. “Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he says, laughing. “Once a Jedi Master, now a Jedi  _ slave.” _

Cody clenches his fists around the handle of his shovel and imagines Kenobi’s lightsaber cutting the  _ demagolka’s _ head off.

“Everything about this place is designed to shatter the will,” Kenobi says, thoughtfully, after a few more minutes, once the Zygerrian and his disgusting face are gone. He’s paused his work, is leaning on his shovel, watching an older Togruta man being whipped by one of the guards. “It’s already begun to affect these poor people.”

Cody has not stopped working. It’s not safe, he thinks, but before he can warn his General (beyond a fast signed  _ danger _ he isn’t even sure Kenobi sees) - who’s already begun to turn back to his work, at least, maybe he  _ did _ see the sign - the tail of a whip flicks out, catches his collar, makes it spark white. Cody clenches his jaw too tight and glares at the durasteel mining cart like if he stares hard enough maybe it’ll explode.

“Speech is forbidden,” the guard snarls.

“I’m sorry,” Kenobi says, quickly, straightening (and he’s wincing, leaning on his shovel again, kriffing hells) a bit. “It won’t happen again.” Kriffing  _ di’kut, _ he needs to  _ stop talking, _ that’s how this  _ works, _ Cody is familiar with this system - Kenobi turns back to work but not fast enough.

“There will be punishment,” the guard snaps, in his heavy accent, and raises his whip, and brings it down  _ hard _ on Roshti’s back. The Togruta cries out, falls to his knees, and Cody tightens his fingers on his shovel until his knuckles are white, silently pleads with his General to just  _ stand down. _

“No, stop,” Kenobi says,  _ fast, _ oh little gods, dropping his shovel and lunging between the Zygerrians and Roshti. “It’s  _ my _ mistake, leave him alone.” He bends over, starts to help the Togruta governor up.

Cody swallows  _ hard _ and tightens his grip around his shovel even more, dumps another load of rock into the cart. Maybe they’ll leave him alone, now, but- He doubts it.

Sure enough, the second guard, the one with the electrostaff, steps forward and jams the tip of the staff into Kenobi’s collar, hard enough to lift Kenobi up and back from Roshti.

And Kenobi-

Kenobi  _ screams. _

Cody doesn’t even  _ think, _ he just yanks the shovel back and spins and slams it into the first Zygerrian he can come into contact with, hits them in the knee, and then there’s a staff jamming into his own collar, waves of agony wracking his muscles, and he  _ snarls. _ Contorts his face and tightens his hold on the shovel and swings blindly, manages to hit something, almost sobs in relief when the collar shuts off, blinks smoke out of his eyes and pushes forward, brings his shovel into contact with the guard shocking Kenobi hard enough to jar the electrostaff from Kenobi’s collar. Meets the guard’s eyes, lip curled, and shifts into a defensive stance, shovel up. “Don’t  _ touch him,” _ he snaps, low, burning, fierce, with all the rage that’s been bubbling up inside him since they first set foot on Zygerria.

“No slave gives  _ me _ orders,” the guard snaps, at both of them Cody thinks, and the guard with the whip raises it, brings it down - Cody lashes out with the shovel, knocks the whip out of the guard’s hand, rams the shovel into his head.

“Cody,” Kenobi says, quickly, “stop,” like his General has any credibility telling  _ him _ to stop when  _ he _ should’ve stopped earlier, when that would’ve solved their problem, and now Cody has to save his damn  _ di’kutla _ ass again - Cody bares his teeth at the one remaining guard, silently.  _ Dares _ him to take a step forward.

He was trained by Jango Fett, he was  _ born _ to fight for the Jedi, and  _ no one _ hurts his General without paying the price.

_ “Cody,” _ Kenobi says, more insistently, but Cody ignores him.

That’s when a shock whip coils around his ankle and  _ yanks _ him off-balance, so he slams into the ground, barely manages to catch himself on his forearms, has to drop the shovel to do so but that’s better than breaking his nose, and he grits his teeth and forces himself to his knees because a slow soldier is a dead soldier and he needs to protect his General, he needs- Another whip catches his arm as he reaches for the shovel but the one around his leg is gone and he could stand now, he could, could - he leans forward, almost desperate, he  _ has to, _ and there’s a second whip around his other arm and he strains against their combined pull but he.  _ can’t. move.  _

And the guard with the electrostaff is smiling, lips pulled back from sharp teeth, he meets Cody’s eyes and Cody feels the anger turning to ice in his stomach. No. Oh little  _ gods, _ please no. 

“Watch carefully, skug,” the guard says. “This is  _ your  _ punishment.”

And he jams his electrostaff into Kenobi’s collar again, and Kenobi  _ convulses, _ and Cody tries to fight his way forward but the whips still hold him tight and there’s still burning pain arching down his arms, up through his shoulders, forcing tears out of his eyes, and he-

He  _ understands. _

“Please,” he says, and the guard’s smile turns vicious and amused. “Please stop. Sir.” The words feel like acid on his throat but he forces them out anyway. “Don’t hurt my General.”

The Zygerrian leaves the electrostaff in place for another moment longer, to make a point, and then steps away, easy, turns his back. The whips release from Cody’s arms and he falls forward, barely catches himself on arms almost too weak to hold him up, sucks in a heaving breath. Little  _ gods, _ kriffing hells, he can’t do this. He feels  _ sick _ from shame and horror, but he forces his gaze up to meet his General’s, tries for that sideways-slash smile. Fails, apparently, from the deep, wrenching  _ pain _ in Kenobi’s eyes,  _ gods, _ Cody  _ hates _ that he’s the cause of all that anguish.

_ Alright? _ Kenobi signs, surreptitiously, slowly picking himself up from where the guards left him.

Cody cannot believe his General is asking  _ him _ if  _ he’s _ alright, when Kenobi is the one who just got shocked for- for Cody’s defiance. Oh gods.  _ It is not only you who will suffer for your defiance. _

Not only Cody who will suffer for his own defiance, either.

He should’ve  _ seen that, _ should’ve  _ known, _ but he didn’t and now his General is paying the price.

_ Sorry, _ he signs, instead.

_ Alright, _ Kenobi repeats, more forcefully this time.

Cody grabs his shovel, signs a slow  _ affirmative, _ pushes himself to his feet on legs that shake from leftover electricity.  _ You? _

_ Affirmative. _

He thinks Kenobi is lying.

But then again, Cody’s lying, too.

 

They’re worked for hours before the overseer (or at least, the Zygerrian Cody assumes is the overseer - she’s got a shock whip with a more stylized handle and a blaster in a holster on her leg) shouts something in a language Cody doesn’t know, harsh and sharp-angled, and a pair of guards come over to him and Kenobi. Both have electrostaffs held loosely at the ready; Cody glances around, sees that the Togrutas appear to be walking in a clump towards another section of the factory, and he warily sets down his shovel and straightens. The more upright position is a relief on his already-aching back, although nothing helps the burning rings around his arms, and leg, where the shock whips held him back.

“Move it, skug,” one guard says, jabs the flat, electrified end of his electrostaff into Cody’s back - all his muscles seize up and he sucks in a sharp breath, stumbles forward, smoothing his expression into blankness because Kenobi looks  _ concerned. _

He’s fine, he’ll be fine. It’s just a little pain. He will not have Kenobi hurt because of him.

The guards  _ look _ at him, and Cody just settles into perfect parade rest, arms behind his back, follows a pace behind and to the right of Kenobi as they’re herded over to the rest of the… the slaves.

Cody has never been a slave, but he was created and grown on Kamino, where despite all the apparent freedom they’d had as young cadets to play pranks, the threat of reconditioning or termination always loomed heavy over his head. He thinks this is similar enough.

So he makes himself still and solid as stone, cold as ice, hard as durasteel, and he holds perfect posture and pretends he can breathe.

It turns out they’re being led to a metal platform of sorts, on which there are scattered bowls containing a meager meal of some kind of vegetable - Cody is hesitant to take one, isn’t sure there are enough for all the colonists if he does, but he and Kenobi are their best hope of getting out of here alive and free, so he grits his teeth and sits down on the metal, lifts the bowl and starts to eat.

It is, he muses, better than rations, at least. Less tasteless. (Probably much less nutritious, though.)

They’ve barely started their meal when a guard walks over, casually shoving into Kenobi - Cody watches his General tense up, half-surging to his feet, ready to fight… until the same guard just-as-easily swings his electrostaff out, poises it inches away from Cody’s collar. Cody grits his teeth and tightens his fingers around his bowl, doesn’t lift his eyes, breathes in and out, steady. He cannot let them use him against Kenobi, against his Jedi, he _can’t,_ but- What can he do? Fight? Then they’ll just hurt his Jedi more. _Fight,_ he wants to tell his General, _I can take it,_ _just fight back._

But Kenobi just flinches, slumps and lowers his hands, turns his eyes back to his bowl.

There are cracks in his eyes. Most people wouldn’t be able to see them, but Cody knows his General better than  _ most people. _

They’ve only been here a few hours. It shouldn’t be anywhere  _ near _ long enough to break a Jedi. But the Zygerrian in charge here, he has this down to a  _ science, _ how to shatter a person’s soul, and Cody is so, so afraid they won’t make it out of here before his Jedi loses his  _ self _ to this mine, before his General breaks beyond recognition.

He doesn’t care what happens to him. He just needs  _ (needs) _ his General to make it out okay. Because how can he fix his Jedi when he can’t fix himself?

The guards leave them alone, let them eat in peace (or, at least, some twisted approximation of it), and Cody welcomes the rest, the space to ease the burning in his back and legs and arms, to breathe until maybe the weariness will fade enough he can push on again. The food isn’t enough, isn’t anywhere near enough, but Cody makes it work. Slips his General an extra vegetable piece when Kenobi isn’t looking, because Cody can go without, was trained to fight and run and move forward on no food, no sleep, no painkillers, and sure, Kenobi always talks about how the Force enables a Jedi to go past the body’s natural limits (and far, far beyond  _ common sense), _ but there are lines even a Jedi shouldn’t cross, and Cody’s watched his Jedi push himself that far too many times. He’s not going to let Kenobi do it now, here, when there’s so much at stake and their captors know how to break them. Even if his Jedi thinks Cody’s being ridiculous.

Kenobi turns back to his bowl, reaches for the extra piece, and then does a double-take, furrows a brow in Cody’s direction, and Cody can  _ see _ the wheels turning in his  _ di’kutla, _ overly-self-sacrificing General’s brain, and so he signs something approximating  _ don’t you kriffing dare _ with enough emphasis it almost draws the Zygerrians’ attention and glares until his Jedi sighs and looks down.  _ Finally, _ a bit of sense.

His Jedi is not known for his self-preservation. Sometimes, it’s good, the way Kenobi risks his life for even the smallest of Cody’s  _ vode, _ the worst-injured, but here and now, it means his General is placing his life below the survival and well-being of all these Togrutas, and maybe it’s a fault of his but since the moment Kenobi was shot off the brezak’s back Cody’s known he could give a  _ shit _ what happens to the Togs, as long as his General survives. 

Kenobi would scold. Kenobi’s compassionate,  _ so _ compassionate, and Cody is  _ not _ \- he tries to be, for his General’s sake, but there is no one in the galaxy more important to him than his  _ vode _ and his Jedi, and here-and-now he is not willing to sacrifice either of them for the sake of  _ morality. _ There is only so far Kenobi’s pleading looks will take him.

Kenobi might hate him for this, later. But at least Kenobi will be here  _ to _ hate him.

The Zygerrians barely give them time to finish their meager meal (what is this, lunch? dinner? something in between?) before  _ encouraging _ them all to their feet, shock whips out and hissing, violently yellow, flickering in the corner of his eye and making him flinch before he masters the instinct. He knows his General sees, because there’s that  _ sorrow _ aching deep and endless in his eyes, again - Cody grits his teeth, shoves his shoulders back and his spine straight, and snaps into perfect parade rest, smoothes his face blank as new armor, and pretends the Zygerrians are just another set of trainers, like some of the Mandos they’d brought in to supplement Jango, or to bark out orders when Jango was off tracking a bounty - the ones who thought hard words and harder fists could force his  _ vode _ into the mold, who didn’t understand what Jango did (sometimes, this was because the Kaminoans hired bounty hunters who weren’t Mandos and thought they could  _ ever _ begin to understand what it was to be a  _ mando’ad). _ Trainers he can handle. 

They smile, and this is familiar, and he knows what’s about to happen before it does, so he is prepared when the electrostaff slams into his stomach, sends shockwaves through his muscles that knock him to his knees, and he breathes through the pain and stares silently at Kenobi’s knees. He is doing this for  _ him, _ for his Jedi, not for the Togrutas, not for fear, and he clings to that truth as a shock whip cracks across his back, icy-hot and burning.

He breathes.

The durasteel end of the electrostaff slams into his side, and someone snarls, “Get up, skug,” and Cody sets his palms on the ground, breathes in and straightens his knees and breathes out. Keeps his eyes on nothing, on everything, on something that is not the gaping fissures in Kenobi’s eyes.

“All you worthless slaves, back to work!” an overseer calls, and Cody sets his jaw and ignores how parade rest makes his shoulders ache and follows the crowd of Togrutas back to their stations.

And he picks up his shovel in hands that do not shake (because shaking hands are more dangerous than anything, for a soldier), and he pretends he doesn’t see Kenobi sign covertly at him:

_ I’m sorry. _

 

They work, again. Hours - Cody isn’t sure how many. But long enough that he’s beginning to struggle, with the pain and the lack of food and the sleep deprivation, before there’s whistles and shouts that come as too much of a surprise. He looks, sees the other slaves are setting their shoves and carts down, are numbly falling into a line, shuffling like sleepwalkers over the rough ground. (Kem had done it, as a cadet, gotten his name that way until they’d taken him to medical and programmed the aberration out of him. Cody wonders what the longnecks and their genetic programmers would think if they could see him now - would they program the compliance out of him or be happy they’d created the perfect slaves?) So he follows, hands behind his back, fingers wrapped tightly around his right wrist, in a parody of strength, maybe. For a moment - for just a moment - he lets himself be selfish, he lets himself think  _ ori’vod, you promised, _ and then he breathes that away too, like the rest of the pain.

But he doesn’t let go of his arm.

They’re escorted to a long, low room with rows of hard, narrow bunks stacked three-high, barely wide enough for one person; Kenobi is directed down one aisle, Cody down the next. He goes no farther than his General, though, hauls himself onto the bunk in the middle and carefully leans back so he’s propped against the divider at the end. It’s just cold durasteel on his shoulders, but he can finally let go of some of the tension holding him upright, and he almost can’t look at Kenobi except he  _ has to, _ he has to see his General, to know he’s alright. So he adjusts his position so he can look, sees his Jedi is already looking at him, too concerned.

_ Commander, _ Kenobi signs, because there’s a symbol for that and not one for  _ Cody. _

Cody closes his eyes, then signs  _ sir. _

Opens them again to see Kenobi watching him, swallowing heavily before signing  _ alright? _ with less emphasis than before. A question more than a demand.

_ Affirmative, _ he signs back.

His General looks around surreptitiously before leaning forward and saying, very soft, “Don’t lie, Cody.”

Cody swallows and wets his chapped lips, rasps out, “I’m not.”

“Cody…” Kenobi shifts, likely adjusting to make his injuries hurt less, leans forward a little. “Please-”

He cuts off, pulls back, as a Zygerrian turns down their aisle, eyeing them suspiciously. The  _ no talking _ rule is clearly not still in effect - other slaves are murmuring quietly to each other - so it’s just the two of them who are under surveillance. Not that Cody’s surprised; the Zygerrians would be  _ di’kutla _ to not expect a Jedi to plan to escape.

But they aren’t. Cody isn’t sure what to think of that. His Jedi can’t already be so broken that he’s resigned himself to a life in chains, can he?

No. Cody will protect him from that.

So Cody shifts back on his bunk, waits for the Zygerrian to pass by on what looks like a patrol, then signs,  _ you alright? _ with hands that shake just a tiny bit. He doesn’t mean to let them - but it’s pain and exhaustion and lack of food, and, he supposes, a bit of the  _ horror _ of all this, still settling in.

He knows Kenobi sees, knows also that his Jedi is trying to hide his emotions, because he always does, and because Kenobi’s hands are shaky too when he shakes his head and signs,  _ negative, Commander. _

Cody closes his eyes against the tears that threaten to spill hot and broken onto his cheeks, reaches for the icy steadiness of being battle-ready, struggles to shove all his emotions  _ back, _ down where they belong, where they can’t stab his chest and dampen his cheeks and leave him hollowed out and bleeding.  _ You need sleep, _ he signs, slowly, drawn out. His fingers feel leaden.

Kenobi closes his own eyes, for a minute, then nods.  _ Affirmative. You too. _

Yes, Cody does need to sleep, if he’s going to be able to protect his Jedi. And he  _ will _ protect Kenobi, whatever the cost.

Even if he has to completely shatter himself to do it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this took so long! next chapter we get to the comfort and healing and maybe even some fluff and romance, eh?

Cody has loved his General for longer than he can remember, almost - in one sense, it seems like he’s loved his General since he knew he’d have a General, since he first saw a holo of a Jedi in action, slicing through a force of blaster-armed pirates on some Outer Rim world. Jango told them stories, when they sat on mats on the floor and listened to him talk about Mandalore, and there were whispered rumors floating around the ranks, the older  _ vode. _ About Jedi who massacred the innocent, who made mistakes and killed those they were supposed to protect, who left the Mandalorians in shambles. Some of his  _ vode _ heard those whispers and grew hard, cold, bitter and hateful - like Slick, and Vixen, and Cormac.

Cody only loved the Jedi more, after hearing the rumors, because he learned they could be just as Human as everyone else.

The first time he’d seen a Jedi had been, of course, Geonosis the first. When High General Yoda had come to Kamino, a tiny whirlwind of green and wrinkles and backwards sentences - Cody had barely glimpsed the High General through the press of his brothers, but it’d been enough. More than enough.

The wizened old creature who stood before them all, leaning on a piece of wood as ancient and twisted as he, was someone Cody would follow.

He and Rex (his  _ oriv’od, _ his closest brother, who always knew exactly what he was thinking) had had the fortune (or, perhaps, misfortune) to be in the transport with Senator Amidala (young and, it seemed, reckless) and two Jedi - Cody knew their names, because as Command batch he’d learned all the relevant Jedi’s names and rankings - General Kenobi and Commander Skywalker. He’d made a terrified grab for Rex when the transport was shot, when his  _ ori’vod _ and the Senator tumbled out, and when Commander Skywalker shouted for the pilot (‘82, just as shiny as the rest of them and unsure what to do when the two Jedi in his ship didn’t agree on a course of action) to  _ put the ship down! _ Cody didn’t say a word, but he was thinking it:  _ please, please, don’t leave him behind to die, not my ori’vod. _

_ What would Padme want, _ General Kenobi asks,  _ gently, _ and Commander Skywalker bows his head and slumps, and Cody thinks -  _ what would Rex want? _

To keep going. To complete the mission. 

Rule number one: we never leave anyone behind.

But they have a  _ mission, _ and so as much as it aches Cody squares his shoulders and lifts his chin and follows the Jedi in front of him, and hopes and prays to all the little gods that Rex will not be the first name he has to recite, in the remembrances Jango had taught them, five years and a lifetime ago.

(A lifetime ago - because Cody feels like it’s been a lifetime, since he saw Jango standing at  _ Count Dooku’s _ back, since his  _ buir _ became the enemy, since a Jedi lightsaber separated Jango’s head from his shoulders, since Cody watched a blaster bolt punch through Tanner’s chest and  _ knew _ what it felt like, to lose, to grieve, to entrench a name deep into the fabric of his mind where he’ll never forget it, because  _ I remember you and so you are eternal.) _

He finds Rex again, after, in the mess that is their first victory and first defeat all rolled into one, and he stands and presses his forehead to his  _ ori’vod’s _ and tries not to listen too eagerly to Commander Skywalker and General Kenobi bantering.  _ An arm, really Anakin? You do have a propensity for getting yourself into trouble- _

_ Well, Master, if you hadn’t gotten yourself knocked unconscious, I wouldn’t have lost an arm, so whose fault is it really? _

_ Still yours, my young padawan. _

That is the first time Cody thinks it, although not in so plain of terms -  _ I want him. _

It is not the last.

“A pleasure to meet you, Commander Cody,” Kenobi - now a High General himself - says, when Cody’s 212th is assigned under his command, along with the rest of the 7th.

“General Kenobi,” Cody says, saluting, as perfect and precise as he can. “It’s an honor.”

“Relax, Commander,” Kenobi says, lips curling up into a bit of a wry smile, blue eyes sparkling like the sun off the ocean, “you’ll hurt yourself if you snap to attention any faster.”

Cody loves him, for that. For the permission in those eyes, for the way they warm impossibly more when Cody does indeed relax and lower his arm, tentatively returning the smile. “Sir,” he acknowledges, careful.

Kenobi studies his face, a moment, says, “I thought I recognized you - you were one of the men with Anakin and I on Geonosis, weren’t you?”

_ Jedi, _ Cody thinks, in awe, because only Jango ever memorized the tiny differences in their faces, the whispers that set them all apart. Or- perhaps not  _ Jedi. _

Perhaps just… just  _ General Kenobi. _

Whatever the case, it makes Cody love him more.

Bly is the first one to admit it, out of all of them - three months into the war and he and Cody and Rex meet up in 79’s, somehow the three of them all on leave at the same time.  _ I think I love General Secura, _ Bly says, too-fast, after his second shot of whiskey. (They serve the real thing, here, it’s the only way to get good alcohol - although Rex says he’s got a  _ vod _ in the 501st that’s karking  _ brilliant _ at brewing moonshine and causing trouble.)  _ She’s just- she’s amazing, vode, I can’t even describe it, _ and then he’d slipped into a soft stream of Mando’a, mumbled into his glass, the only word Cody could pick out being  _ kandosii’la. _

He agrees with the sentiment, though.

He never  _ says _ it, at least not to his  _ vode, _ but to himself- He’ll admit it to himself. That the General’s eyes are more varied and shifting than the oceans of his homeworld, and more beautiful - that beards are apparently  _ definitely _ Cody’s thing.

Maybe it’s just that  _ Kenobi’s _ are his thing.

He does tell Rex, though. Once, a year and a half or so into the war, after their  _ diplomatic _ mission escorting the Duchess of Mandalore to Coruscant.  _ I love him, _ Cody says, quietly, even though their whispered conversation is covered up by the sound of hundreds of snoring  _ vode. And he loves her, and I don’t think he’ll ever be able to love me like that. And I shouldn’t want him to, I know what the consequences would be, but- _

_ But you want it anyway, _ Rex says.

And Cody can do nothing but nod.

_ I’m sorry, ori’vod. _

From then on out, Rex doesn’t tease him much, when Cody finds himself staring in the middle of a battle, or in a briefing, or when his General walks into the  _ Negotiator’s _ mess yawning, hair in disarray and eyes still blinking away sleep  _ (that _ image haunts Cody’s dreams for  _ months, _ leaves him  _ wanting _ more than anything else - to wake up in the morning and see bleary blue eyes blinking back at him, to reach out and run his fingers through sleep-mussed copper hair and trimmed beard and lean in for a kiss that probably tastes bad but is bliss anyway). In return, Cody doesn’t tease Rex for the way his  _ ori’vod _ gets suspiciously still when Commander Tano shows up in the Coruscant barracks in a  _ dress _ and leggings that show off her figure shockingly well, for how he drinks a little too much one night and rambles to Cody about Tano’s smile and her eyes, her markings and her laugh. 

It is hard enough, these days, for them - to love so fully (and, in Rex’s case, to know that at least some of that affection is returned) and to be unable to do a  _ single thing _ about it. They don’t need to be  _ teased _ on top of everything else.

Cody has finally managed to (mostly) curb the teasing, by pretending he feels nothing more than friendship and the love of a soldier to his leader for the General. Sometimes, he pretends well enough he even convinces himself.

But he promises himself, late at night when there’s no one but him to scold him for his stupidity, that he will never let anything happen to his Jedi. Not so long as it’s in Cody’s power to protect him.

(Of course, by the time they set foot on Zygerria, it’s already far, far too late.)

 

Cody wakes up to a voice hissing his name, low and sharp, and to a sour taste in his too-dry throat, and to muscles that  _ ache, _ all over, tense and tight and stabbing, and he pushes himself half-upright on instinct, rubs at his eyes.

It’s his Jedi, sitting up and staring at him, and Cody snaps himself all the way awake with an effort, grimacing. The colonists are all up, climbing off durasteel-wire bunks, and Cody realizes with a start he’d slept through whatever wake-up call the Zygerrian guards gave - and he does  _ not _ want to know what the penalty for that would be. 

He shoves himself off the bunk and onto his feet, stretching muscles that groan and twist and pop with the motion - everything  _ hurts, _ burns and throbs, and there’s a headache pulsing uncomfortably behind his eyes, but he’s functional. Barely.

He just has to be functional, though.  _ Functional _ means he can do everything perfectly, means he can keep his General from getting hurt because of him. Means he can at least  _ try _ to keep the promise he’d made himself, ages ago now. 

Protection. That’s what shared armor means, what paint means. And Cody wears his General’s colors. They all do, not that Kenobi knows they think of it that way (it’s a Mando tradition, Cody’s pretty sure, armor and paint and family, Jango had told them a bit about it - had been ordered to stop when everyone started requisitioning paint the Kaminoans didn’t want to give them, something about  _ too much individuality) _ \- but there’s not a  _ vod _ alive who doesn’t consider his Jedi as part of his  _ aliit _ (except, maybe, Krell’s  _ vode, _ but then again from what little Cody heard almost none of them  _ had _ paint). But they paint their armor because it’s  _ theirs, _ and they paint it 212th gold because that is  _ his. _

(He’d been too shy, almost, to ask the General what he thought of the paint job, the first time - but Kenobi had brought it up himself, had smiled and said  _ that looks nice, Cody, _ and he’d blushed under his bucket and hoped desperately that the General wasn’t paying attention to his emotions.)

So Cody will do everything he can for  _ his Jedi, _ because that is the promise.

The Zygerrian guards shove them forwards, and for a minute Cody thinks he’ll lose his General in the rush of motion - he doesn’t, manages to instead reach out and catch Kenobi’s fingers and hang on, concealing the contact in the folds of his Jedi’s tunic. He thinks- he thinks maybe this is helping, a little bit. Even though it can’t last.

_ “I’m right here, Cody,” _ Kenobi murmurs under his breath, in Mando’a, and squeezes Cody’s hand a tiny bit.

Cody returns the pressure - it’s the only form of acknowledgement he feels comfortable expressing, here, surrounded by the guards. When  _ speech is forbidden, _ and he cannot risk his General getting hurt again.

But he thinks touch is forbidden too, and he still can’t bring himself to let go of Obi-  _ Kenobi’s  _ hand until they’re coming up on the door into the factory proper, where everyone’s forced into single-file. He knows he  _ has to _ let go, he cannot risk his General getting hurt because Cody wants a bit of comfort, but it  _ aches _ worse than the burns on his neck to open his fingers and return his hand to his side.

This is his life now, he realizes, stepping through the doorway. Until and unless the battalions on-call can somehow find them, this is it. Watching his Jedi shatter under a shock whip and shoveling stone. Unable to talk or touch or- anything. A living hell.

_ Little gods, _ please let the 104th find them.

Preferably soon. Before Cody can no longer breathe under the weight of all Kenobi’s pain.

They’re escorted to the same job as the day before - filling carts with broken rock - although not in the same place, and not with Roshti and the unknown woman. Instead, it’s just Cody and his General in an out-of-the-way corner, trying to be closer than he should so he can maybe sneak in a steadying touch or two, without the Zygerrian guards noticing. He doesn’t  _ think _ they do - the bite of a lash into his back never comes, and his collar never sparks to burning life, so he thinks he’s safe. 

But he’s not sure. And he  _ shouldn’t _ do this, because at any second they could be seen, and Cody  _ has _ to protect his Jedi, that’s the most important thing now - which means that little infractions like this, brushing his shoulder against Kenobi’s, shouldn’t happen. If he’s  _ caught… _

Obi-Wan- General Kenobi seems to appreciate it, though, sends Cody a tired smile every time. His eyes just bleed more with every one.

Cody is exhausted, the muscles in his legs and back burning from exertion - he grits his teeth and tightens his fingers around the handle of his shovel, focuses on even breaths, in and out, on relaxing every muscle group one at a time. Pulls on every trick he and his brothers learned during training, everything Jango taught them, about how to keep going, how to make it through the training sessions after three days forced sleep deprivation; he won’t falter, won’t  _ let himself, _ because he knows the punishment for it, and he made a promise.

_ (Don’t make promises you can’t keep, _ Jango tells them, as the Command batches cram into a small room with dimmer, warmer lights than the stark cold white of the rest of Tipoca City’s cloning facilities - there’s the heavy scent of Mandalorian spices in the air and Boba sits in a corner twisting a toy fighter through the air, making blaster noises out of the corner of his mouth.  _ Haat, ijaa, haa’it, ad’ike - truth, honor, vision. Your word should be as reliable as your armor and blasters. Ijaa jate’shya kot. _ And ‘24- no, he’s Cody now, the trainers told him that this morning - and  _ Cody _ nods, because he understands, mouths the rest of the proverb along with his  _ buir: kyr’am jate’shya jehaate.) _

And Cody knows the value of his word.

He can keep going on the lack of sleep and the exhaustion and the injury, but his Jedi, it seems, can’t quite - because Kenobi is in the middle of lifting an overflowing shovelful of crushed rock (because if you don’t fill your shovel enough, it can warrant a punishment - Cody’s seen it happen to a few of the Togs- the other slaves) when his back gives out and the shovel wavers, the tip dropping to the ground as he leans into it for support. Cody swallows  _ hard, _ has to fight back the urge to step forward, give his General a shoulder to lean on, except of course he  _ can’t, _ that’s half the  _ point _ \- and then that all ceases to matter anyway.

Because there are guards watching them, have been all morning, and there’s a half-second pause, a grace period, maybe, before Cody doesn’t even have time to brace himself and something snaps out, catches his collar - a whip, a staff, he doesn’t know, doesn’t think it really  _ matters _ \- sends electricity arcing across his skin, stabbing through his bones, and he staggers, falls to his knees, clenches his hands into tight fists; the sound of the shovel clattering to the ground echoes around and around in his head, durasteel clanging against stone, like the distinctive bark of a slugthrower, the one time Cody’d seen one (it’d been a training holo, because slugthrowers are the only type of projectile weapons a Jedi lightsaber can’t block, they’re different, archaic, and they’d needed to know weaknesses and strengths, how to fight against someone with one), and he sucks in a sharp breath, holds it, controls it, lets it out long and slow like he’s not fighting back instinctual tears.

_ Gods. _

He keeps his face perfectly blank as the staff or whip pulls back and the shock fades, glances over at his General (can’t help it, he’s drawn to his Jedi like a ship in a tractor beam)- and it’s just  _ horror _ he feels, then, because his Jedi looks  _ sick, _ pained, and oh  _ gods _ Cody thought it’d be better if the Zygerrians were hurting him instead but his Jedi is  _ breaking _ and there is nothing, absolutely  _ nothing, _ that Cody can do to stop it.

Cody has rarely had occasion to wish that his General didn’t see him and his brothers as Human, but this, he thinks, is one of those rare occasions.

The guards back away and Cody forces himself to his feet, wishing he could reassure his Jedi - he signs a fast  _ alright _ at Kenobi, all the reassurance he can give, picks up his shovel and grits his teeth and scoops up another load of rock. His back aches, feels like it’s about to give out, and he stiffens his spine into durasteel and forces himself onward. Dumps the rock into the cart and breathes in and scoops up another shovel, repeats the process. Again and again until his focus has narrowed to the scrape of durasteel against stone, the rasp of the shovel handle against his palms, the slow and careful inhale and exhale of breath from his lungs-

A whip cracks through the air behind him and Cody startles, tightens his grip on his shovel instinctively, breathes in and out, rough and raspy. Hands grab his arms, wrest the shovel away from him (no, they can’t-), and every instinct screams at him to throw them (them, the Zygerrians, his enemy) off and grab the shovel again and spin and fight-

He can’t. Because they’ll hurt his General - they’ll hurt  _ Obi-Wan. _

And he can’t let them do that.

So he is still and calm and doesn’t fight when they twist his hands into binders in front of him, though he tenses (can’t help it) when he sees them doing the same to his Jedi.  _ No, _ they can’t- but he can’t fight, because as soon as the Zygerrian guards holding him feel him tighten his muscles in preparation to do something,  _ anything, _ there’s a hiss and something snaps close to his head and he can’t help it - he flinches. Jerks away from the shock whip and then forces himself into stillness, takes a shaky breath, stares down at the ground.

_ “Cody,” _ Kenobi says, fast, and there’s no snarl for  _ silence _ from the guards, just them tugging his Jedi away.

The rules are changing, and Cody doesn’t understand, but he knows his- he knows his General needs reassurance. So.  _ “Ni jate, _ O- General,” he rasps out, finds his balance steady and sure and starts after his Jedi. 

He doesn’t know what’s happening, now. But he will not let his General, his Obi-Wan, face it alone.

~

The Force twists and constricts around Cody in a way that Obi-Wan has never felt before, not in all the battles they’ve fought together, in the years of sharing close quarters, in the late-night conversations in the mess, over cups of caf and tea. (Cody is the only one Obi-Wan has detailed his increasingly Dark Force-induced dreams to; similarly, Obi-Wan knows he’s one of the few people to whom Cody has admitted his own nightmares, of old battles and older training sessions and the fears of failing, of losing his brothers to the war.) He doesn’t know what it  _ means, _ entirely, this twist of Force, but he knows Cody’s locked himself down. That his Commander is  _ hurting, _ and not just physically.

That Obi-Wan can do nothing, nothing at all, to fix that.

He doesn’t know where they’re being taken now, but he can guess it’s to their  _ wonderful _ leader - master? owner? whatever he is - for a  _ discussion. _ Perhaps on how difficult they’re proving to be, or something of the like. 

Not that Obi-Wan has any intentions of continuing to be difficult. Not with- with what he thinks this is doing to Cody, to the other colonists. He has to do whatever he can to ensure they are safe. Especially Cody.

He shouldn’t think like that. He shouldn’t be prioritizing one singular person over the whole, over the mission - purpose must come before feelings, after all - and yet.

And yet he’s seen Cody’s eyes go dark and still and flat, he’s felt Cody shoving down fear and anger and sickness, he’s heard the softest intakes of breath and the minutest shifts that mean  _ pain. _ He’s watched Cody try to sleep and seen the tears on his Commander’s cheeks and known Cody was crying for him.

And it’s tearing something in him to see Cody this way.

They’re marched through the factory, into a new corridor and up to a set of thick reinforced doors, and Obi-Wan steals a glance over at Cody, even though he knows it’ll do nothing but hurt to see the blankness there.  _ I’m sorry, _ he wants to say,  _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. _

He doesn’t.

The doors hiss open and the guards behind him shove him and Cody inside, twirling their electrostaffs and knocking Obi-Wan forward and down to his knees in front of the Zygerrian from the first day, in the repulsorlift chair - Cody hits his knees beside Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan can’t help leaning over a bit, giving Cody a shoulder to balance on.

He’s shocked, briefly, for that. He can’t seem to care.

“There’s someone who wishes to speak with you,” the Zygerrian says, pudgy face twisting into a grinning leer, and he shifts back in his chair and gestures grandly at a holoprojector behind him, moving out of the way as a full-sized holo of Dooku (of course it’s Dooku, who else would it be?) springs to glowing life.

_ “Obi-Wan Kenobi. In chains once again, I see,” _ Dooku says, smug and smirking down at him, and Obi-Wan fights to keep from twisting his lips into a sneer. 

“Count Dooku,” he says back, as fierce and firm as though he isn’t a slave with a shock collar around his neck and binders on his hands, as though he hasn’t been beaten and broken into pieces of dust, because even diamond dust can still cut and he must be razor-sharp right now. “Still afraid to get your hands dirty?”

Dooku gestures with one hand, tucking the other under his elbow.  _ “I would gladly make an exception in your case, my friend,” _ he says, and Obi-Wan can’t help a scoff.  _ “I wanted to say a proper farewell,” _ oh?  _ “before Keeper Agruss puts you to death.” _ He gestures with one hand at the Zygerrian in his chair - Agruss, apparently - who’s rubbing his hands together in clear anticipation of the upcoming execution, a sharp, eager gleam in his eyes.

_ Put to death. _

Maybe it’s better, to be put to death, than to be a slave. Than to have to watch Cody bow and suffer- but no, because without them there is no hope of freedom for the Togrutas, and what about Anakin and Ahsoka? Obi looks over at Cody, fast, but his Commander is stony and frozen and doesn’t even look like he’s  _ moved. _

There’s a beeping, an alert of some kind, from a bank of controls, and a Zygerrian technician says, “Keeper, there are Jedi warships coming out of hyperspace.”

_ “Skywalker!” _ Dooku snaps, but- can it be? Anakin is a slave the same as- Obi-Wan cuts that train of thought off fast, before it can come to completion. He smiles, instead, because he is broken but his jagged edges can still cut. 

“Tell him to call off the attack,” Agruss says, “or I’ll drop all those slaves you’re so interested in to their deaths.” He gestures and a guard pushes a datapad in front of Obi-Wan’s face - the screen shows the entrance to the building, and even as Obi-Wan watches Anakin and Ahsoka back into the frame, both looking mostly-uninjured.  _ Force. _

He doesn’t intend to say anything, at first - if Anakin’s brought reinforcements (Anakin is  _ here, _ oh Force) then they’ll be able to save the Togrutas. He reaches into the Force and feels, distantly, Plo’s signature, and Anakin’s bright burning star, the Togs and the 104th and at least a few of the 501st, and-

_ “Do it!” _ Agruss commands, and Obi-Wan flicks his eyes over to his right, sees an electrostaff hovering by Cody’s collar, and-

He can’t.

“Anakin,” he says, does not look at Cody, at the judgement that must be in his Commander’s eyes. Anakin  _ whips _ around, on the screen, focuses on him, and Obi-Wan doesn’t look at his padawan’s eyes. Can’t, really. “Anakin, you have to call this off.” He can see the protests building on Anakin’s lips already, but no, there’s no  _ time, _ and the guard inches the electrostaff closer to Cody’s neck and so, “Keeper Agruss is threatening to drop all the slaves into the pit if you don’t.”

_ “I’m done making deals with slaver scum,” _ Anakin spits out, as Obi-Wan knew he would, as he’d hoped he wouldn’t (but hoped he would, in one part of his mind, because he  _ can’t _ keep doing this, can’t watch Cody break, can’t-).

“Anakin,  _ please,” _ Obi-Wan says. “You must know you can’t fight them alone.”

_ “Who says I’m alone?” _ Anakin  _ smirks _ in that way of his, and Obi-Wan barely has time to swear silently before the connection cuts out.

The building shakes with the distinctive sound of a place under fire; Dooku’s hologram flickers and Agruss’ face goes pale and wide-eyed, and Obi-Wan reacts, because this is his only chance, lifts his hands and  _ reaches _ into the Force and says,  _ “Now, _ Cody!” and pulls Cody’s collar off with a crackle of electricity and a heavy wash of the Force.

He reaches up and pulls his own back even as Cody simply snaps out,  _ “Vor’e,” _ and pushes to his feet, and then Obi-Wan has to  _ focus _ because already a guard is reacting and pulling a blaster to aim at him.

He leaps up to his feet and flips over the heads of the guards behind him and Cody, dodges two more blaster bolts as the building shakes again, and then the Force says  _ move now _ and Obi-Wan flings his hands up directly into the path of a blaster bolt and his cuffs snap in half. He glances to one side, sees Cody twirling an electrostaff in both hands and fighting with another guard, and that Zygerrian nearly stabs Cody and for a moment there is  _ rage, _ and then blasterfire skims so close to his head it singes his hair and Obi-Wan  _ focuses, _ narrows everything down to the Force and the objective and the ache in his muscles, the burning in his back and neck and arms, the rasp of air in his lungs. Lunges forward and tackles the guard with the blaster, wrangles the blaster back and forth - the building shakes more and Dooku’s hologram is watching dispassionately and Obi-Wan ignores it all - and then beeping distracts him and he freezes, looks up to see Agruss out of his repulsorlift chair, tapping frantically at the controls, and Obi-Wan  _ swears, _ can do nothing but watch as the Zygerrian destroys the controls with ease. The guard he’s pinning shoves a hand into his face, nearly flips them, and Obi-Wan balls up a fist and punches the Zygerrian twice in the jaw until they go limp.

He pushes to his feet and rushes over to the controls, taps futilely at them, then swears and taps his wristcomm, the one thing the Zygerrians have left him, snaps into it, “Master Plo, the controls have been destroyed. I can’t do anything from here.”

_ “We’ll handle it, Obi-Wan,” _ Plo says across comms.  _ “Get yourself out of there!” _

“Incoming!” Cody shouts, from the other side of the room, and Obi-Wan looks up to see more guards rushing through the newly-opened doors - blasterfire spews at him and he tucks and rolls, crouches behind the holotable (which has gone dark and dormant, sometime in the past few minutes - Obi-Wan doesn’t know when), pushes aside the way his body aches and burns. He’s pushing himself too far, he  _ knows _ that, but he grabs onto the Force and makes the pain  _ not matter. _ Waits, one beat, two, three, and  _ moves, _ and then he’s just grabbing the blaster as it fires, pointing its muzzle up at the ceiling, and grabbing the Force and  _ pushing _ and the Zygerrian smashes into the wall hard enough Obi-Wan hears a  _ crack. _ He’s already turning, though, left hand outstretched, and his saber pulls singing from Agruss’ hand and snaps into his palm and Obi-Wan thumbs the switch and slips into an opening stance, faces Agruss and his chair, and everything goes  _ still. _

“Come now, Master Kenobi,” Agruss says, too calm, too controlled, almost  _ amused, _ “a Jedi won’t kill an unarmed man.”

Anger rushes up in him, and Obi-Wan cocks an eyebrow, doesn’t waver from his stance. Agruss has the  _ audacity  _ to say that to him, now, after everything he’s done, after everything he’s done to  _ Cody? _ Unarmed is hardly  _ unharmful, _ or guiltless, and this Zygerrian has killed many and tortured  _ countless more _ and here he sits in his fancy chair and calls himself  _ unarmed _ like he’s an innocent caught in a conflict, like he’s a  _ civilian, _ like he deserves the protection.

The anger is  _ there, _ so close he could touch it, take it, the Force hums with it and for a moment - for a moment Obi-Wan thinks  _ I can kill him _ and it would be so easy, he could-

_ NO. _

No, he  _ can’t, _ because this is all-too-familiar, the last time he felt this was staring through the red-tinged lens of a ray shield as his Master fell, and he  _ will not fall, _ he won’t- So he flicks his eyes across the room, sees Cody with an electrostaff comfortably in one hand, and the instant Cody meets his eyes Obi-Wan knows he knows.

Cody hefts the staff, adjusts his grip, and hurls it across the room with a snarled,  _ “I’m no Jedi.” _ And it slams into Agruss,  _ through _ him, and into the chair, which whines and hisses and short-circuits, slamming Agruss headfirst into a display screen.

The anger dissipates and Obi-Wan powers down his saber, hooks it to his belt methodically, automatically, and it almost doesn’t  _ process _ at first, that they’re  _ free. _ The burns on his neck and back  _ scream _ in pain, and when he looks over at Cody his Commander is in as bad of shape, if not worse, and Agruss is dead and the facility shakes around them, so- They have to  _ go. _

But first, Obi-Wan forces himself over to Cody and tugs his Commander into his arms, hangs on  _ tight, _ feels Cody  latching on to him in turn. “Cody,” he says, softly, and Cody buries his face in Obi-Wan’s hair and  _ trembles. _

“I’m sorry, sir,” he rasps, and Obi-Wan soothes a hand up and down his back, feels the curve of Cody’s spine through the yellow shirt.

“I know, Cody,” he says, soft, softer than he means to, “I know. Me too. But it’s over now, we’re free.”

Free. They’re free.

And Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to do with that freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:
> 
> Ijaa jate’shya kot; kyr’am jate’shya jehaate: better honor than strength; better death than (lit. lies, fig. dishonor)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic keeps getting longer and longer. i'm almost 100% certain that chapter four will be the last chapter, though! so here we go <3

When Cody and his General stumble out the entrance to the facility, there’s a transport waiting for them, with several Wolfpack  _ vode _ and General Skywalker inside. Skywalker is, as always, too easy to read, and when he catches sight of Cody and Kenobi his face shifts through concern, horror, fear, relief, and murderous rage, finally ending up with a mix of the five that would be amusing in any other circumstance. But it’s not, now, with Kenobi leaning heavy on Cody’s shoulder and half-staggering, half-running next to him, their only priority to get  _ away _ from the collapsing factory behind them.

Cody has to lean into his Jedi’s shoulder a bit, himself, because his legs are shaking a bit, muscles weak from overwork and injury and lack of food, but once they get into the transport he can let go, a little, he can relax. That’s it, just get to the transport. Get his Jedi there.

The sight of his  _ vode _ makes him think  _ safety, _ even though they aren’t safe yet, and Cody grits his teeth and clenches his jaw and forces himself forward. General Skywalker reaches out a hand to help Obi- Kenobi up into the transport, and Cody tries not to mind when his General’s weight shifts off his shoulders, just stiffens his spine into durasteel and climbs into the ship without help. His General is in safe hands, now, doesn’t need him anymore - Skywalker will help  _ (will protect Obi-Wan where he failed). _

Skywalker is already busy looking Kenobi over, swearing at the electrical burns around his neck and the lashmarks shredding through the woven fabric of his tunic and tabard. Cody wishes for his bucket, to hide his face, for his blacks to cover the clear burns on his own neck (he can feel his  _ vode _ looking at him, assessing, and he fights back the urge to shrink into himself to hide the injuries); but he doesn’t have his armor and he won’t, for a while yet, so he smoothes his face into blankness and pushes his shoulders back like the motion doesn’t make them  _ burn _ and clasps his hands tightly behind his back in a too-stiff parody of parade rest.

He can almost,  _ almost _ pretend he’s fine, like this.

The transport twists unexpectedly, likely the pilot making a last-minute course correction to avoid one of the fighters zipping by, and Kenobi and Skywalker both stumble - Skywalker catches himself but Kenobi doesn’t quite, and a 104th  _ vod _ reaches out to put a steadying hand on Kenobi’s shoulder, and Cody only sees the minute flinch because he’s looking for it, but it’s noticeably there. It makes him  _ burn, _ for a moment, makes him have to fight to keep from shoving his  _ vod _ aside and settling himself at Kenobi’s shoulder, where he  _ belongs, _ where he should be-

Where he doesn’t deserve to be, right now.

Kenobi is fine, anyway, he has Skywalker, and Cody saw Kenobi flinch towards the other General so- He has someone with him. He’s fine.

That’s all that matters, really.

The transport sets down in the  _ Triumphant’s _ hangar with a soft  _ thunk _ and the sides slide open, and Skywalker immediately helps Kenobi out - and Cody wants to be by his Jedi’s side, but-

He’s fine.

(The tremor in his legs is more pronounced, now, but he wills it away. He’s  _ fine, _ fine enough.)

Kenobi starts to walk away, then pauses, turns back, says, “Cody?” with a soft, concerned glance that threatens to utterly snap the self-control holding Cody together.

“I’m fine, sir,” he says, instead of snapping, modulates his tone into something close enough to normal that the  _ vode _ around him and General Skywalker don’t even glance at him. “Go on ahead, I’ll catch up.”

To his surprise (although maybe it shouldn’t be, he probably should’ve known), his Jedi turns entirely around, pulling away from Skywalker’s support and striding back over to Cody. “Cody,” Kenobi says, wryly, “don’t try to pull that on me.”

“Pull what, sir?” he asks, keeps his voice level and face emotionless. (He wants to reach out and pull his Jedi into his arms, tight against his chest, where he  _ knows _ Obi-Wan will be safe, and never let him go.) 

Obi-Wan-  _ Kenobi _ (he needs to  _ get a grip) _ gives him an unimpressed face, raising one eyebrow just enough to silently say  _ that’s banthashit and you know it. _

“Of course,” Cody sighs, to the unspoken statement. “I’ll, ah, be right behind you, General.”

“Good.” Kenobi doesn’t go back to Skywalker’s side, just puts a hand on Cody’s shoulder (and he does  _ not _ lean into the touch, doesn’t- maybe a little, then, but it’s a moment of weakness and his legs are shaking more now and so that’s the reason he lets himself), says, gently, “Come on, Cody.”

“Sir-” He stops, mouth feeling unaccountably dry, swallows a bit. His General is too close to him, hand still soft and warm on his shoulder, and Cody wants- he wants-

_ “Ori’vod!” _

Cody whips around, half glad for the interruption, half because  _ oh gods, Rex, _ he needs his  _ ori’vod, _ and he almost doesn’t even notice Kenobi’s hand slipping off his shoulder because Rex takes one look at him and tugs him into a hug, pressing their foreheads together.  _ “Kriff, ori’vod,” _ Rex says, emphatically, “you look like shit.”

For some inexplicable reason,  _ tears _ well up in Cody’s eyes, and he forces them down with an effort, swallows hard against the tightness in his chest. “Thanks, Rex,” he manages, dryly, doesn’t even mind the pain as Rex tightens his arms. “Feel kinda like it too, to be honest.” Little  _ gods, _ just-  _ safety. _ It makes him lean too much weight into his  _ ori’vod, _ makes him have to fight to keep his knees locked, makes him struggle too much against the lump in his throat.

“We better get you to the medbay,” Rex says, almost gentle, resting one hand on Cody’s neck for a moment, and Cody closes his eyes, gives up fighting the weakness in his muscles.

“Yeah,” he rasps. “I don’t think my legs are going to hold me up much longer.”

Rex nods decisively, pulls back, although there’s concern sharp in his eyes. “C’mon then, Codes,” he says, slings an arm around Cody’s shoulder and tugs him against Rex’s side, starts to walk off.

Cody hesitates, though, darts a glance over at his General, who is- who is watching him, something ancient and sad and pained in his blue, blue eyes.

_ “Come on, ori’vod,” _ Rex repeats, in Mando’a,  _ “my General has your jetii.” _

_ “It’s my fault they hurt him,” _ Cody says, tiredly, and lets Rex pull him away.

“Cody-”

_ “I don’t want to talk about it,” _ he snaps, sharper than he means to, it’s just- he can’t  _ tell Rex, _ that he let the karking  _ demagolkase _ hurt his Jedi, that he  _ let them use him, _ he can’t. What would Rex  _ think _ of him, if he knew? Bad enough Obi-Wan saw how easily-

_ Kenobi. _ Not Obi-Wan. Cody has never been allowed to use the name before (there are regs, and Kenobi is a  _ Jedi Master, _ and more than that Cody’s CO, and they may be friends but that does not entitle him to Kenobi’s first name); now, he hardly  _ deserves _ the honor. Why can’t he get his gods-damned  _ di’kutla _ self under control?

“Alright,  _ ori’vod,” _ Rex says, although he sounds- not frustrated. Disappointed? Maybe. Cody doesn’t want to think about it. He  _ hurts, gods, _ all over. “Kix is going to have an aneurysm.”

“That’s nothing new,” Cody grunts, swearing under his breath as they leave the hangar behind and step into a turbolift. “He does that-” Rex shifts and the edge of his blaster digs into one of the burns on Cody’s side, and he sucks in a sharp breath, involuntarily, “-all the time anyway. Your Jedi are not known for self-preservation.”

“Neither is yours,” Rex says wryly, hitting the button for the medical level. “Still, this is a little worse than the shit he deals with all the time.”

The lift zooms up, and Cody grits his teeth and locks his knees again. “Your Commander’s gonna need you,” he says, after a minute. 

“I know,” Rex says quietly.

“Be careful.”

“I know.” A pause. “Like  _ you _ can talk about careful, Codes, what the kriff did I walk up to you in the middle of?”

Ah, yes, that- whatever it was. “I don’t know,” Cody says, honestly, tries not to think about the warm press of his- of Kenobi’s hand on his shoulder, of how much he’d wanted to just- sink into the promised embrace, the comfort of it. “He’s concerned, I guess.”

“You  _ guess?” _ His  _ ori’vod _ makes a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat, eases Cody forward as the lift stops and the doors open to the whitewashed walls of the medical level.  _ “Ori’vod, _ everyone can tell he’s worried sick.”

“He needs to worry about himself,” Cody says, although not as sharply as he wants, given the fact that his right knee buckles when he tries to step forward and he half-falls onto Rex’s shoulder.  _ “Kriff.” _

“Need a stretcher?”

_ “No,” _ Cody growls, gets his leg back underneath him and upright through sheer force of will. “I’m fine.”

“Codes-”

“I’m.  _ Fine,” _ Cody says, in his  _ I’m-a-fekking-Marshal-Commander _ voice, the one that snaps the shinies into line in half a Standard second. Rex doesn’t even look impressed, just raises an eyebrow, but his  _ ori’vod _ at least lets the question go. “Save the interrogation for Tano and Skywalker.”

“I can interrogate  _ all three _ of you just fine,” Rex mutters. “But whatever.”

Rex helps him into the medbay’s main area, where Cody’s immediately swarmed by three junior medics - he tries to contain the reaction, but he knows Rex feels him flinch back against his brother’s solid safety, because Rex tightens the arm around Cody’s shoulders and growls, “Back off. Where’s Kix?”

The flurry of junior medics does indeed back off (alright, so Rex does have his own Commander voice, and it’s a mark of how- tired Cody is that he almost responds to it), and Kix’s familiar tattooed head comes into view with a quiet, “Here, Captain. I’ve got the Commander - would you go check on Skywalker and Tano and get them in here?” Kix’s voice is softer than it usually is, and the hand he settles carefully on Cody’s shoulder is gentle and careful.

Rex nods, says, “Yeah,” and then transfers Cody’s weight over to the medic, which Cody can hold his own weight, thank you very much-

Of course, his right leg chooses that moment to buckle again, and this time he can’t catch himself.

Three sets of hands later, Cody’s sitting on a bunk in a semi-private room (three other bunks in the room, with curtains that can be drawn between them for privacy) with very little idea of how he got here. “What-” he starts, and finds himself looking into the exasperated face of the 104th’s senior medic, Cookie.

“Sit down, Commander,” Cookie orders, firmly, and that’s when Cody realizes he’s half-pushed off the bunk already - but the rest of the beds are empty and he needs-

“We’re going to bring Kenobi and my Jedi in here once Rex brings them back,” Kix explains. “I need to take your shirt off and take a look at your burns.”

“Alright.” Cody grits his teeth and carefully pulls his shirt over his head, hissing a bit as the motion makes his burns tug painfully. 

Kix swears, under his breath. “These look like electric burns,” he says, carefully, and Cody nods.

“Stellar observation,” he says, dryly, and Kix gives him a  _ look. _ “Shock collar, electrostaffs, and shock whips. Some bruising from getting tackled off a balcony, too, but-”

“Kriffing  _ hells, _ Commander,” Kix mutters, then sighs and starts carefully dabbing bacta from a jar onto Cody’s neck. He does his best not to jerk away from the touch, though from the way Kix’s hand stills for a minute Cody thinks he can still tell. He breathes in, deliberately holds the breath  _ (in for four, hold for four, out for four, and hold, _ Jango says, adjusts ‘24’s grip on the blaster rifle,  _ and when you’re making a tight shot, squeeze the trigger on the exhale - ah, don’t  _ **_jerk_ ** _ the trigger, ad’ika, see how that throws your aim off when you fire? Pull it back smoothly and you’ll stay on target), _ wills all his muscles to relax, one major group at a time.  _ “Gar jate?” _ Kix asks, softly.

Cody nods, once.  _ “Ni jate,” _ he agrees, just a little bit hoarse, clears his throat a bit.  _ “‘Lek, _ Kix, I’m good.”

He does not glance over at the door to the room, at least not until he hears Kenobi’s distinctive Coruscanti accent saying,  _ “Anakin, _ I’m alright,” and then his head snaps around fast enough it makes Kix swear (Huttese, Cody thinks, he  _ definitely _ picked that up from Skywalker). He doesn’t  _ mean _ to, per se, but he finds himself pushing half-off the bunk again before Kix sets both hands firmly on his shoulders and makes him relax down again.

_ “He’s fine, sir,” _ the medic says, in Mando’a, and Cody twitches his head in a nod, but doesn’t look away from the door until Skywalker comes through, Cody’s Jedi half-draped over his shoulder (clearly reluctantly, from the expression on his face), Tano behind him, Rex behind  _ her. _ And Rex apparently ignored Cody’s warning to  _ be careful, _ because he’s got a hand on the small of Tano’s back, and she’s leaning into him, walking too close, and if Rex gets himself karking reconditioned because he can’t karking  _ control himself- _

Oh, who is Cody even kidding, he’s just as bad as his  _ ori’vod. _

Little gods kriffing damn it.

Skywalker and Cookie (some day, Cody’s definitely going to have to find out the story behind  _ that _ name) get Kenobi installed on the bunk nearest Cody, which- he appreciates, and the little nod Cookie gives him means the medic definitely knows  _ something, _ or thinks he does, which is banthashit because Cody is much better at this  _ secretly-in-love _ thing than Bly is. In any case, Cookie and one of his junior medics get Kenobi’s tunic and tabard off (oh dear), start fussing with the myriad of awful burns, and Cody watches as Kenobi holds himself too-still, the picture of calm except every muscle is  _ tense _ and he’s barely breathing, and Cody grits his teeth (and then hisses as Kix prods a particularly sore spot before injecting a hypo directly into the side of his neck,  _ ow), _ hands clenching, and then-

Cookie reaches up to dab bacta on Kenobi’s neck and Cody’s Jedi  _ flinches, _ just a tiny motion, and Cody’s on his feet before Kix can react, pushing his way over (his legs shake, but he forces that to  _ not matter _ and anyway, he’s pretty sure Kix just gave him painkillers because already things are starting to feel fuzzier and not so sharp) and dropping down to sit next to Kenobi. “Back off,” he says, razor-sharp, and pays no attention to Kix in the background shaking his head. “No offense, but neither of you should be over here.” Full offense, actually, karking medics should  _ know better. _

The medics  _ all _ look offended (good, they should), but Kenobi gives him a weak smile, so Cody doesn’t care about the medics.

“The General needs bacta,” Cookie says, impatient, “and you need to let Kix finish working on you, Commander.”

“Scratch taught me field medicine, I’ll help my General,” Cody says, with an effort at being calm. “And Kix can work on me just as fine when I’m over here.”

Kix sighs, then says, “As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right,” and Cookie  _ frowns _ but backs up, muttering under his breath before turning to go and check on- Tano, it looks like. The junior medic follows reluctantly, and Cody turns to his Jedi, puts a careful hand on his shoulder.

“Are you alright, sir?” he asks, quietly.

Kenobi nods. “Managing, yes,” he says, leans into Cody’s hand a bit, and Cody’s just close enough to see and feel the tension slowly draining away under his hand. More quietly, he adds, “Thank you,” and Cody swallows and rubs his thumb in a circle over Kenobi’s bare shoulder.

“Yeah,” he manages, throat closing over the word, and then instinctively tenses as Kix comes over with bacta and bandages and tape and touches his shoulder. 

“You good?” Kix asks again, and Cody nods. 

So Kix starts to work on the rest of the burns, and Cody holds himself still and focuses on the feel of Kenobi’s skin, warm and smooth beneath his calloused palm, and on his breathing, and on the blue of Kenobi’s eyes, soft and rich and steadying, an anchor against everything. The room is quiet and that helps, and the painkillers dull the throb of the burns, the tense battle-readiness in his muscles, the way he instinctively wants to leap into action at every touch.

He focuses on Rex, too, sitting with Tano and absently tracing a finger over the blue stripes on her montrals, although he can’t look at that for too long without getting concerned with Rex’s- well.

They’re both guilty of being too familiar with their COs, Cody really can’t scold anymore.

Kix tapes off the last bandage and hands over the materials, and Cody has to pull his hand from Kenobi’s shoulder to take them, but he does it because it’ll be better this way - Kenobi will be better this way. And there’s a wall behind them, which is good, means safety, so Cody makes himself relax (inhale, hold, exhale, hold, repeat) and dabs the bacta over the electrical burns and the whip cuts all over Kenobi’s back. He tears off lengths of bandage, covers the wounds and tapes the white material down, and then when everything except Kenobi’s neck has been covered (Cody hadn’t let Kix bandage his neck, knows his Jedi won’t want that either, it’s too much a collar and neither of them can stand that right now, not here where it should be safe and still doesn’t feel that way) he hands the supplies back over to Kix.

“Have you gotten any painkillers, General?” Kix asks, low and quiet, and Kenobi shakes his head a bit, grimacing.

“None yet, Kix,” he says, and Cody returns his hand to Kenobi’s shoulder, hardly thinking about it. “I would… greatly appreciate some.”

“Of course,” the 501st’s medic says, steps away a minute to put the bacta and supplies away and comes back with a hypo, which he carefully injects into Kenobi’s upper arm. “You both should try to rest. I’ll come back by in a couple hours to check on you.” He pauses, gives Cody a look that he can’t entirely interpret, then turns away and steps through the automatic door into the main ward of the medbay.

There’s quiet murmuring coming from the other half of the room, where Skywalker, Tano, Rex, and the 104th medics are, but Cody ignores them, focuses on his Jedi. Rex can help Skywalker and Tano.

Cody… he doesn’t deserve this. But Kenobi needs him, he thinks, or needs- someone. Skywalker, probably. (Duchess Kryze, a little voice whispers, and he pushes that one away as fast as he can.) Kenobi needs someone, and Cody is here, so-

He carefully slips his arm around his Jedi’s shoulders, and when that doesn’t garner him a negative reaction (or anything, really), tugs Kenobi close so that his head rests on Cody’s shoulder, says, softly, “You should sleep, sir. I’ve got the watch.”

Kenobi lets out a long breath. “I’m alright, Cody,” he says, relaxes into Cody’s side (and that makes something in him  _ hurt, _ how easy it is, the way his Jedi feels like he  _ belongs _ here, tucked under Cody’s arm where he’s safe and where for a few minutes at least no one can hurt him) and turns his head so his face is tucked in the hollow of Cody’s neck. He lifts one hand, casual, almost careless, twitches a finger and the privacy curtains slide shut, isolating them from the rest of the medbay. “You need rest, too.”

“Don’t pull that banthashit on me, sir,” Cody says mildly, tapping Kenobi’s shoulder with one finger. “I’m not worn out from using the Force.”

“Neither am I-”

“Banthashit, Kenobi. Like I said.” Cody fights back the urge to bury his face in his Jedi’s hair again (he’d never had the excuse to touch it before, but it’s soft and smooth and Cody thinks he could spend ages just running his fingers through its copper waves), instead contents himself with soothing his thumb over Kenobi’s shoulder. “Don’t try to pull it on me.”

“Obi-Wan.”

“... what?” Cody almost can’t keep track of the topic change - he’s tired, and the painkillers are fuzzing everything, blurring the world around the edges. Kenobi’s head against his shoulder is still startlingly clear, though. Maybe he’s thinking too much. (He’s not thinking enough.)

“We’re off-duty,” Kenobi says, soft but wry, “you can call me by my name.”

Cody… Cody  _ hesitates. _

He knows there was a reason why he wasn’t letting himself do that, why he  _ can’t, _ but with everything gone too-soft and hazy and his Jedi tucked against his side like he never wants to move, lips brushing against the skin of Cody’s neck whenever he talks, he can’t remember what that reason is.

“Okay,” he says, instead. (He shouldn’t, he doesn’t deserve- This is his  _ General, _ he can’t just-) “Obi-Wan.”

He can feel his Jedi smile against his neck.

“You should sleep, Obi-Wan,” he repeats, after a minute.

“Only if you do,” his Jedi says, the edges of his words rounded with a soft sleepiness that likely comes from the painkillers. “We’re both safe, it’s alright to rest.”

Cody hums a bit, sighs. “If I get up you won’t be as comfortable,” he points out, although somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he shouldn’t  _ say that, _ but everything’s lethargic and lazy and so he turns his head and presses his nose into Obi-Wan’s hair, closes his eyes. 

“I didn’t say anything about getting up, Cody.” Obi-Wan sounds amused. “If you tried you’d probably fall over, anyway - I can tell the painkillers are kicking in.”

Cody shrugs the shoulder Obi-Wan’s head is on, then grumbles as that bounces his own head. “Feels like I’m floating,” he admits, and Obi-Wan chuckles. “Fine, Obi, I’ll stay.” Oh, wait, he shouldn’t- he shouldn’t call Obi-Wan that, right? There was a reason- he reaches for it, but it slips out of his fingertips. Oh well, he’ll remember it later. It probably wasn’t important anyway.

He’s tired.

_ “Rest, _ Cody,” Obi-Wan says, and something soft and heavy, like a blanket, or rushing water, or both, slips over him, tugs him down into its depths.

Yes, he wants to rest.

“Okay,  _ ner’jetii,” _ he murmurs, buries his face more into Obi-Wan’s hair, and lets the darkness take him.

 

Cody wakes up slowly, the way he does when he knows he’s safe, instinctively burrows closer to the warm weight curled comfortingly into his side, tightens his arm - his fingers catch on something (a bandage, his subconscious supplies) and he shifts them, irritably, back to skin, warm and smooth under his fingertips. Nuzzles more into Obi-Wan’s hair - he was right, it’s just as soft and silky and nice as he’s always thought it’d be-

Wait.

General Kenobi’s hair?

Morphine-hazed memories wash over him, and  _ oh gods, _ he- Cody pulls back fast, pushes himself to a sitting position (somehow he’d gone from sitting up with his face in  _ his General’s _ hair to laying down, tangled up with said General, oh little gods), rubs frantically at his face. How could he have  _ done that, _ oh gods, he just-

_ Ner’jetii. _ And  _ Obi. _ He can’t even decide which one is worse, just- he has to put distance between them before his General wakes up and asks questions. Oh little gods, shit, he can’t let his guard down around his General  _ ever again, _ he is  _ such a di’kut. _

He untangles himself the rest of the way, starts to slip out of the bunk, and freezes when Obi-Wan- when  _ Kenobi _ stirs, blue eyes blinking open, slow and sleepy,  _ shit, _ he should’ve already been gone- “Cody?” his General rasps, and Cody swears under his breath.

“Hey, General,” he says, forces a smile. “You should go back to sleep. I gotta get to my own bunk, Kix’ll murder me otherwise.” He leaves out the fact that it was almost definitely Kix who- rearranged them, because his General looks disappointed now but they both know- He’ll be glad, later, when he wakes up and  _ realizes. _

Kenobi blinks himself more awake (and Cody has to quickly look away from those eyes, because gods damn it), rubs at his face wearily, says, “Who moved me?”

“I did, sir,” Cody lies, pushes himself to his feet and tucks the blankets back around his General, carefully. “Go back to sleep, everything’s fine.” Maybe if Kenobi goes back to sleep, it’ll be  _ fine, _ maybe he won’t remember this when he wakes up. Any of it,  _ gods, _ Rex would smack him in the back of the head right now. (Maybe not, Rex was too close to Tano, but then  _ Cody _ should be smacking  _ him _ upside the head. Karking  _ di’kute, _ both of them.)

“Alright,” Kenobi says, after a moment of watching him, and Cody has the disconcerting feeling that his General knows that Cody’s lying. He hesitates, then says, softly, “Cody - this wasn’t your fault.”

Cody locks himself  _ down, fast, _ straightens his shoulders and says, “Sure, General.” 

Then he turns and walks around the bed, starts to duck through the privacy curtains, except- “Thank you for staying, Cody,” Kenobi says, and Cody almost stops and goes back to curl around his Jedi, regs and rules and Jedi Code and everything be damned (and the fact that he doesn’t even know if his Jedi feels the same way as he does- doubts his Jedi does, because  _ Duchess Kryze, _ why would his General want a battered clone when he could have, well, her?). But he can’t, because- 

He can’t.

So he just nods, once, shortly, and pushes the curtain aside and steps through, goes carefully over to his bunk and sits down, and drops his head into his hands. Karking  _ dumbass, _ what was he thinking?

“Good morning, Commander,” someone says wryly, and Cody’s head snaps up to see Kix walking over, face too amused for Cody’s liking. “Have a nice eight hours?”

Cody can’t remember the last time he slept eight hours straight without nightmares. Even drugged.

“Yeah,” he says, after a minute, sighing. “We almost to Coruscant?”

“Another hour or so and we’ll be there,” Kix says, nodding. “I’m surprised to see you over here,  _ vod, _ you looked pretty damn comfortable with your Jedi.”

Cody sucks in a breath, forces himself not to react beyond a single raised eyebrow. “I told him I was the one who moved him,” he says, after a moment, level.

Kix just  _ stares, _ for a minute, and then says, “Are you karking  _ serious. _ You  _ idiot.” _

Cody crosses his arms (grimaces as that tugs on sore muscles - the morphine is wearing off, but he’ll handle the pain, Kix better not karking drug him enough he can’t make good decisions again), and doesn’t respond, just meets Kix’s eyes and holds the medic’s gaze until he sighs and looks down a bit. “Fine,” Kix says, “but you’re missing an opportunity.”

Cody just levels Kix with another one of his Marshal Commander glares until the medic huffs another sigh and goes over to the curtains around Kenobi’s bed, and Cody most definitely does not crane his neck to catch a glimpse of his General - that would be undignified. 

The rest of the trip back to Coruscant is uneventful, quiet, and Cody sits and picks at one of his bandages and tries not to think about how  _ good _ it’d felt, curled up around his Jedi, knowing he was safe, knowing he was where he belonged-

Cody can’t think that way. It just makes everything harder.

It’s easier, when they get to Coruscant; Boil and a few of Cody’s veterans come and help escort Kenobi to the Temple, and Cody’s taken to the medical center in the barracks, and for the next two weeks all he sees are Rex and his  _ vode. _

That helps. Gives him space to push away the complicated tangle of-  _ everything _ he’s felt since he woke up to find out he’d been a bigger idiot than Rex’s  _ vod _ Hardcase, and honestly, he hadn’t even thought that possible, given the stories Rex has told. (Smoke bombs in the barracks  _ on board their cruiser, _ honestly.) Rex not-quite-hovers, and that helps, too - this is the most Cody’s seen his  _ ori’vod _ at once since they were assigned different battalions. It’s good, although Rex spends some time with Commander Tano - she’s not kept in the Temple’s medical wing long, and neither is Skywalker, apparently, since neither were badly injured. Except then the 501st is sent back out on campaign, and with Waxer dead and Kenobi indisposed, he spends most of his time alone.

It doesn’t  _ entirely _ bother him - he has time to catch up on reports, and since Kenobi isn’t doing anything, he can actually get his General’s signature on half of them, instead of forging it himself.

That’s a definite plus. Although forging the General’s signature has become almost second-nature by this point.

He shoves the part of him that misses his General far, far down next to the memory of Kenobi’s head on his shoulder and Kenobi’s arms around him, and he tells himself everything is  _ fine, _ that this is what he wanted, anyway.

He tells himself it enough he almost believes it.

~

Obi-Wan has always been, he had thought, fairly exemplary at releasing his emotions to the Force. Perhaps he has not always been the detached Jedi he  _ should _ be, but he’s always been slightly of the opinion that as long as he released any emotions related to them, being unable to entirely let go of his attachments isn’t entirely a terrible thing. Not ideal, certainly, but workable. 

It seems, however, that he is not as skilled at letting go of some emotions as he’d thought. It doesn’t help that he’s no longer sure he  _ wants _ to be.

The two weeks of medical leave have given Obi-Wan plenty of time to think on the incident in the  _ Triumphant’s _ medbay. He hadn’t protested when Cody left, because, well- 

The crux of the matter, of course, is that Obi-Wan  _ understands. _ After all, hadn’t he done the same thing to Satine when they were younger? Hasn’t he been (subconsciously, perhaps, but all the same) doing it to Cody himself, avoiding the truth he hadn’t wanted to accept?

Now that Obi-Wan himself is ready to accept that truth - that perhaps he cares more for Cody than he should, cares for Cody easily as much as he cared for Satine - Cody seems to be avoiding him. And he’s not entirely sure  _ why, _ even if he does understand the evasion. He just-

_ Ner’jetii, _ Cody had said.  _ My Jedi. _

Maybe he’d been a fool to encourage it. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken the comfort of Cody’s arm around him, the  _ safety _ of it; maybe he shouldn’t have told Cody to call him by name. Maybe he’d just taken advantage of the painkillers to push Cody into something he wasn’t ready for.

He probably should’ve expected that Cody wouldn’t stay, honestly. He’d just-

He’d hoped. Maybe this is the Force’s way of saying he needs to let go - but he doesn’t think so.

Perhaps Cody just needs time.

And Obi-Wan should be used to pushing aside his wants, his hopes, for selfish things - because this is a war and he is a Jedi and they are meant to be above such things, and in any case there is hardly  _ time _ for most of his more selfish indulgences. But this… it’s different, somehow, and Obi-Wan can’t quite make himself push it away.

They return to campaigns in just a few days. He hasn’t seen Cody since the medbay incident, but perhaps… perhaps the return to their routine on board the  _ Negotiator _ will help. He knows Cody is struggling with what happened on Kadavo, because  _ he _ is, and maybe, when they’re in the same space again, Obi-Wan will be able to help him.

And perhaps, just perhaps, he’ll be able to convince Cody to come back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to everyone for the kudos and kind comments! i've really enjoyed sharing this fic with y'all and i'd love to hear what you think. i hope that despite the slightly disproportionate ratio of fluff to angst, everyone still enjoyed the ride! <3

The first mission they’re given after the end of the two week medical leave is too-simple, although Obi-Wan doesn’t entirely mind the excuse for more peace and quiet - if everything goes routinely, the supply shipment they’re escorting shouldn’t face any difficulties. Their route does take them dangerously close to the edge of Separatist space (hence the escort), unfortunate but necessary, as this particular shipment is meant for a newly-operational medical base closer to the front lines. While normally “babysitting duty” (as his men tend to call this type of mission) is assigned to battalions with less… combat experience, since the 212th’s next deployment is a particularly contested part of space not far from the new medical station, it was an easy enough call.

The unfortunate thing about so-called babysitting duty is that their progress is much slower than usual, due to the supply ships being heavy-bellied, slow freighters, stuffed with so much equipment and other supplies that their speed through hyperspace is far slower than what the sleek cruisers and warships can manage, even fully-loaded with men and ships and artillery. Add that to the fact that their route requires several different hyperlanes to avoid the worst hotspots, and it means they’re stuck on this quiet job for a full week.

Jedi cruisers are large, but there’s still only so much space, and only so many places his Commander can hide from him, and Obi-Wan knows where Cody’s quarters are (for no other reason than sometimes they’d discuss the upcoming mission or campaign in one or the other’s rooms), so although he has no intention of intruding on Cody’s privacy (he will wait for his Commander to come to him), he walks past the rooms on occasion, feeling the ambient Force around them carefully, to make sure Cody’s alright.

That’s why, on the second night of their trip through hyperspace, Obi-Wan is walking the halls (restless, unable to sleep without dreaming - his subconscious mind has begun combining the Naboo power generator with Kadavo, and it is… not pleasant) when he feels a sudden wave of fear-anger- _ helplessness _ pour into the Force, and he’s near enough to Cody’s room to be able to pick out his Commander as the source.

Nightmares, perhaps?

It’s none of his business, certainly, he should walk away - he has no idea if Cody is even comfortable with him being around in the aftermath of a nightmare - but it’s too late, he’s already keyed in the code and the door’s slid open.

The room is dark, and Obi-Wan stays on the edges, hesitant to enter without permission, hand on the doorframe. “Cody?” he says softly, waits.

There’s no response, and Obi-Wan takes a careful couple of steps inside, just far enough to let his eyes adjust to the light - the door slides shut behind him and he really shouldn’t do this, but then there’s a fresh wave of horror and shame welling up into the Force and he knows he can’t leave now.

Cody is curled up tight on his bunk, shirtless, the thin blanket riding low enough that Obi-Wan can see whip scars on his back (and his fingers ache to trace them, map them out), nearly rigid from tension, muscles starkly outlined under his warm brown skin. Even as Obi-Wan watches, his Commander shifts a little, reaches out one hand, and the words roll ragged off his lips:  _ “Nayc, gedet’ye.” _

_ No, please. _

Obi-Wan moves without thinking, settles onto the very edge of the bunk and reaches out into the Force, floods the ambient atmosphere with warmth and Light and comfort, says, “Cody, wake up,” and settles a careful hand on Cody’s shoulder.

Cody startles awake with a gasp and a half-cried  _ “Obi-Wan-” _ and reaches forward like he’s trying to grab something, then goes still as a statue. Collapses back into himself, into a patchwork version of his usual blankness, eyes squeezing tightly shut.

“I’m here, Cody,” Obi-Wan says, carefully soothes his hand over Cody’s shoulder, reaches up to brush a finger over the scar curling around his eye.

Cody goes even more still, frozen almost, then swears roughly and opens his eyes, pushes himself to a sitting position - he scrubs at his face, but can’t wipe away the tears fast enough. “I’m sorry, sir,” he says, stiffly, “I didn’t mean to-”

“Cody,” Obi-Wan says softly, and then tugs his Commander into his chest. Cody is stiff for a couple seconds, stiff enough Obi almost lets him go - and then the younger man lets out a quiet sob and practically  _ melts _ into Obi-Wan’s arms and starts to cry.

He runs a hand up and down Cody’s back, absently, soothing, lays his cheek on top of Cody’s head and tries to keep his fingers from wandering to the scars etched out across his Commander’s skin - unsuccessfully, if he’s quite honest. It’s just- he’s so rarely gotten to  _ hold _ Cody, refused to let himself in the past, and he has hardly seen his Commander in two weeks and this- It’s the safest he’s felt since setting foot in Kadavo. (Because even on Zygerria, in the middle of the slave pits, he’d known Cody was on his six, and it’d perhaps lured him into a false sense of security, but he can’t help the way he associates his Commander with  _ safety, _ even moreso now than before.)

“It’s alright, Cody,” he murmurs, tilts his head and presses a kiss to the top of Cody’s head (and the Code hisses  _ attachment is forbidden _ in the back of his mind and Obi-Wan shoves it away, rejects it, because for too long he has listened and for too long he has denied himself this, even when the Force sang  _ this is right), _ “I’ve got you.”

Cody twists his fingers tighter into Obi-Wan’s tabard and leans his face harder into Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and Obi closes his eyes, presses his face into Cody’s hair and traces a round, ridged burn scar likely from the tip of an electrostaff, directly in the small of Cody’s back. Cody makes a small noise, presses closer, and Obi-Wan finds, quite suddenly, that he does not want to let go.

That… may be problematic, eventually.

But for now, he traces the scars and holds his Commander as he cries and breathes in the smell of metal and oil and smoke and the powder-clean smell of GAR-issue shampoo, waits until Cody’s sobs soften and taper off, until Cody shifts in his arms and pulls back just a little, rasps out, “Sorry, General, that was inappropriate of me.”

Obi-Wan pulls back one arm, reaches up and touches Cody’s cheek, gentle, says, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He can  _ see _ Cody swallow, watches those golden-brown eyes flicker closed as Cody tilts his head into Obi-Wan’s hand. “I-” He stops, takes a shuddering breath, says, “It was- Kadavo, sir.”

“You can call me by name, Cody,” Obi-Wan says, gently, skims his thumb over Cody’s cheekbone. Cody’s hand flexes where it’s still twisted into Obi’s tabard and he swallows again, eyes squeezing more tightly closed.

“I- can’t, sir,” he says, and Obi-Wan breathes deep and tries to release the sharp pang of disappointment in his chest. “It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Cody-” Obi-Wan stops, leans forward enough to tilt their foreheads together, shifts his hand from Cody’s cheek to the back of his neck, combing through the soft hair at the base of his head. “It’s alright, Cody.”

He can  _ feel _ Cody take a long, shaky breath, and then his Commander says, low and hoarse, “Please don’t, sir.”

Obi-Wan pulls back fast, like he’s been stung, swallows down the- it’s deeper than disappointment this time, tears at something in his heart, and he folds his hands together in his lap and doesn’t quite look at his Commander and says, as neutral as he can manage, “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked first.”

Cody’s locked himself down, too tight, and  _ Force, _ Obi-Wan isn’t sure what he did- pushed too much, maybe, but it’s just like the medbay, Cody shutting down and hiding behind his mask.  _ Kriff. _

“I’m alright now, General,” Cody says quietly, “you don’t have to stay.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Obi-Wan asks, honest, looking up to meet Cody’s eyes, tries to let all the  _ hurt _ go.

“I-” Cody closes his eyes again. “Yes, please.” But one of his hands twitches forwards, just a tiny motion before it’s controlled - and now it’s Obi-Wan’s turn to close his eyes and look away, breathing in deeply.

“Alright,” he says, manages to get the word out. Pushes to his feet in a single fluid motion, says, soft, “You can comm me if you need anything, Cody.”

Cody still isn’t looking at him, and he said  _ yes please, _ so Obi-Wan swallows and keys the door open, steps out into the dimly-lit corridor. And as the door slides closed behind him, all he can feel in the Force is heavy, heavy  _ loss. _

~

“Kriffing  _ damn it,” _ Cody snaps, slams his fist into his mattress and slips into Mando’a for a moment before slumping and burying his face in his hands. 

He’d almost kissed his General.

And for a moment, he’d thought- that maybe his General wanted- he’d been so  _ close- _

No. He  _ can’t, _ even if his Jedi has- feelings, his Code would prevent him from acting on them. And there are regs, in any case, he can’t break them however much he wants to (wants to badly enough it  _ burns, _ it’d physically  _ ached _ to tell his Jedi to leave - because he’s wanted this for so long, now). And kissing him would just- it’d ruin their friendship, when the General has to pull back and say  _ we can’t do this, Cody, _ or worse, say he doesn’t return Cody’s feelings at all, so he- he can’t.

He wants to.

_ Gods, _ he wants to.

Even more than that, right now, he wants his Jedi back in his arms, holding him so close and careful, tracing his fingers along Cody’s scars like they’re precious, like they’re worth knowing, he wants his Jedi-

Well. That’s about the long and short of it, that. He wants his Jedi.

Cody lays back down with a frustrated sigh, scrubs at his face. Karking hells, he needs to get a grip. But how can he do that when his General keeps being  _ close _ and- and  _ soft, _ and just-  _ touching _ him like that, like he’s worth the tenderness, like he  _ deserves _ it.

He’s the reason his Jedi isn’t sleeping, or at least he made it worse, in the factory, so the nightmares are worse, now, and so-

He doesn’t deserve it.

He wants Obi-Wan back.

Cody curls up under his scratchy, too-thin blanket and wraps his arms around himself, a piss-poor parody of Obi- Kenobi’s arms, presses his face harder into his pillow and closes his eyes and tries to sleep. But the room just feels empty and cold, now, and everything  _ hurts, _ and the images from his nightmare are coming back in full force: his Jedi, his Obi-Wan, on his knees in the Kadavo factory, crying out as a whip strikes his back over and over again, and the Zygerrian guards are leering at Cody (because it’s his fault, he did something and now they’re punishing his cy- his Jedi for it) and he begs and begs and they won’t  _ stop, _ and they’re going to  _ kill Obi-Wan- _

Cody tugs his knees to his chest, makes himself small, like he did when he was a cadet and he had his first nightmare - after they reconditioned Sev, and Cody chased the longnecks down the white, white halls on his short four-year-old legs and shouted his throat raw, and Jango came and scooped him up and carried him to Jango’s own room, taught him how to say Sev’s name so he’d never be forgotten and made him heavily-spiced tea and let him cry. And maybe if he curls up small enough he’ll be okay, it’ll hurt less - except it doesn’t, it never does, and so Cody cries into his pillow like he cried into Jango’s shoulder and wishes-

Wishes things could be different.

 

The next day they drop out of hyperspace unexpectedly, later in the evening - apparently a battle has begun in nearby space and they’re having to adjust their course to detour around it, so one of the captains from the supply convoy has taken a shuttle over to the  _ Negotiator _ to discuss the new route.

Cody walks onto the bridge in full armor, helmet tucked under his arm (he’d been running sims to try and keep his mind off of- everything - not that it’d really worked), to see his General with his arms tucked behind his back, seemingly relaxed - but Cody knows better. The rigidity in his shoulders beneath his tunic and tabard, the tightness of his fingers around his wrist, the angle to his smile and the tension around his eyes all say the same thing: that his General is far from calm.

“Captain,” Kenobi says, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, “we cannot afford to take the longer route. My ships are needed to reinforce Master Secura’s, and the course we are currently set to take is already pushing it. On the slim chance that this battle spills onto our route, you are being escorted by three fully-staffed Jedi warships. We can adequately protect your cargo.”

Captain Jen’ali grits her teeth and leans one hand onto the holotable currently showing a projection of their set course. The captain of the primary freighter carrying their cargo, the  _ Dark Horse, _ Jen’ali is a mid-height Human woman who apparently works for a third-party contractor the Republic has hired on to ferry supplies around. There must not be enough ships to devote entire cruisers to purely cargo. “It’s not protection I’m worried about, Master Jedi,” she says, irritably, rolling dark brown eyes. “If we’re pulled into the middle of a firefight, the chances that I lose cargo go  _ way _ up. Do you know how much of a bonus the Republic’s paying me to get all this shit to that med station without a scratch?”

“I am sure it’s a substantial amount,” Kenobi says, conciliatory, spreading his palms a bit. Cody crosses the rest of the distance between them, steps up to his General’s shoulder, notes as he does that Jen’ali doesn’t even look at him. “However, Captain, the longer we take to reach our destination, the more lives are at stake - not only from the active fighting, but in the men who need that medical station.”

Jen’ali waves a careless hand. “The  _ lives _ you’re talking about are  _ clones, _ Master Kenobi - they were purchased to die for the Republic, and that’s what they’re doing. Dying so  _ I _ can be safe. I need that bonus, Master Jedi. We’re going around.”

Cody locks himself down, smoothes his face into blankness and says, frosty, “You can go around.” She cannot talk that way about  _ his brothers. _ “We,” and he gestures at his Jedi, “are going to maintain our current course. If you want to continue being escorted, I suggest you do the same.” He squares his shoulders and meets her eyes, level, fierce, does not ask his General for permission as he raises his voice. “Gadget, how long in hyperspace can we go before we risk crashing into Seppies?”

“One hour at our max, sir,” the tech answers promptly. Cody does not look away from Jen’ali. “One point seven three at the freighters’.”

“When the  _ good captain,” _ and he lets his voice frost over more, into ice, “has returned to her ship,” bucket of bolts, more like,  _ gods _ Cody hates freighters, “make the jump. Do not alter course. We’ll progress through the hotspot as per protocols and proceed.”

“Yes, sir!” He’s sure Gadget salutes, but Cody doesn’t look over to see, just tilts his head ever-so-slightly to one side. An invitation.

Jen’ali looks away from him, back to his General, says, “Master Kenobi, surely you don’t intend to let this- this  _ clone _ make these type of decisions?”

“My dear captain,” Kenobi says, smiling (but his smile is icy sharp), “may I introduce you to Marshal Commander Cody, my co-commander, whom I have  _ personally _ relied on to make life-or-death calls for the majority of this war?”

There’s silence.

Then someone whistles.

“Elek,” Cody snaps, “KP.”

There’s a resigned “yes, sir” from a corner of the bridge. 

“I see,” Jen’ali manages, after a moment, eyes darting between the two of them. “A, ah, pleasure to meet you, Cody.”

“You may call me Commander,” Cody says, crisply. “I would suggest returning to your ship - in five Standard minutes this cruiser is jumping to lightspeed, and I’d so hate for you to be left behind.”

Elek whistles again. Cody can’t even make himself be annoyed.

“Understood,” Captain Jen’ali says, and without preamble turns from the holotable and makes her way off the bridge.

Once she’s gone, Kenobi turns to him, smiling a bit. “You overdid it, Cody,” he says, but Cody doesn’t think his General really means that, because he’s smiling too warmly and the skin around his eyes is crinkling like it does when he’s hiding a laugh.

“Me?” Cody asks, lets the blankness slip from his face, just a little. “I would never, sir.”

Kenobi  _ laughs, _ blue eyes sparkling, and Cody finds himself smiling in return, although the icy anger still lingers beneath his skin, shivering through his veins. “Of course you wouldn’t, my dear Commander.” He shakes his head, amused, and then sighs and focuses, says, “Would you let the men know we have about two hours before we hit the hotspot? I know it’s late shiptime, so everyone should rest - just make sure they’re combat-ready, especially the pilots.”

Cody nods (deliberately does  _ not _ let his mind linger on  _ my dear Commander), _ salutes, says, “I will, sir. Threat assessment?”

“Low,” Kenobi answers honestly, rubbing at his beard. “Jen’ali is overly concerned. The fight is only just close enough I feel we should drop out of hyperspace, if only so we don’t hit stray debris and, ah, find ourselves in dire straits.” 

Cody feels his lips twitching. He presses them into a  _ very _ serious line, nods. “Of course, sir. I’ll go brief the men now.”

Kenobi nods, and Cody turns from the bridge and enters the turbolift, tries to push Jen’ali’s comments out of his head.

 

He’s not successful.

 

Another hour later,  _ clone _ is echoing around his head, mingling with  _ skug _ and  _ slave, _ and he’d thought maybe his  _ vode’s _ voices would drown the words out but they can’t, won’t, and there’s anger and a familiar  _ helplessness _ burning up in his chest, and he can’t push it down and it  _ burns, _ so he abruptly pushes away from his  _ vode _ (those of whom are still awake) and walks through the corridors just short of a run, until he reaches one of the smaller, more out-of-the-way training rooms. He strips out of his armor, until he’s barefoot and just in his blacks, and then he dims the lights until in the dusk the vaguely Human shaped punching bag hanging from the ceiling could be Jen’ali, could be Agruss, could be any one of those damn  _ mir’osike. _

Cody bares his teeth and punches it.

Right hook, right cross, left cross, a driving kick to the dummy’s gut, repeat, repeat, repeat, until he’s panting and his muscles burn with the workout and there’s sweat dripping into his eyes and running down his back, and his lungs ache, and it feels good but it can’t drive away  _ clone, clone, CLONE. _ He  _ snarls,  _ lunges forward, slams his fist into the dummy, and he feels the skin across the back of his knuckles tear and rip, a smear of blood staining the white fabric. (He should’ve wrapped his hands, he needs to stop now, before Scratch scolds him.) 

He throws another punch and feels the skin on the knuckles on his left hand split too, and he  _ should stop _ but he can’t, now, almost, because  _ clone, skug, slave, _ and they shock Obi-Wan and he can’t stop them, useless, helpless, he tries to stop them and they hurt his General worse, and  _ clone _ Agruss says with Jen’ali’s voice,  _ dying so I could be safe, you were made to fight and die for the Republic, get up, slave, get up- _

Cody  _ shouts, _ raw, and punches the bag (punches the captain and the slavers and everyone who’s ever looked at him like he’s nothing, like he’s less than the dirt on their boots, everyone who’s ever smiled with thinly-veiled derision and said  _ just a clone, _ everyone who sticks thousands of numbered casualty reports in a file somewhere never to be read and calls it  _ product loss, _ every single longneck and trainer)  _ hard, _ so hard pain explodes in his hand and jars all the way up to his shoulder, and he swears roughly and shakes it out, feels something brightly-stabbing in his bones.  _ Shit, _ that’s what he gets for losing control, but the punching bag still looms in front of him like a shadow of everyone who’s ever hurt him and he can’t stop himself from pulling his arm back again and shifting his weight and-

“Cody?” Obi-Wan- Kenobi- his Jedi says, from behind him, concerned, and the moment is shattered, and it’s just Cody and his bruised and bleeding hands and a too-dim room and a punching bag stained with red.

“Hi, General,” he says, tiredly, all the energy fading from him in a rush, and he lowers his injured hand and turns reluctantly around to look at the door.

His Jedi is leaning against the doorframe, blue eyes awash with worry, and the moment their eyes meet he pushes off the wall and crosses the meter or so between them, reaching both hands out. “You hurt yourself,” he says, softly, and Cody shrugs one shoulder.

“Accident.” He does let Obi-Wan- let Kenobi take his right hand in both of his, smooth a thumb over the torn and abused skin.

“You should be more careful,” his Jedi sighs, softly, closing his eyes. “You cracked the bone.”

Cody winces, then holds carefully still as he feels the familiar itching tingle of Force healing under his skin - he would scold, normally, his General shouldn’t be using his energy up on something this mundane, but he doesn’t really want to listen to Scratch’s lecture right now. He’s too tired. “I was- angry,” he says, although that doesn’t really encompass it all.

Kenobi nods. “I know,” he says, and of course he does. The tingling fades and he carefully lets go of Cody’s right hand, and Cody wordlessly holds out his left. “Still. I should not have to tell you to wrap your hands.”

Cody sighs. “No, you shouldn’t,” he says, tries for something wry and ends up with hollowness. The itching starts up again and he shifts a little, wipes at his sweaty forehead with his free hand. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

It’s only a moment before the skin on the back of his hand knits itself back together, and Kenobi smiles just a bit. “Good,” he says, and then, to Cody’s complete and utter shock, lifts Cody’s hand to his lips and  _ kisses it, _ holding his eyes. He turns Cody’s hand over and kisses his palm (is this a dream? this is definitely a dream), then curls Cody’s fingers in like they’re holding something precious, and says, quietly, “Make sure you are.”

He’s gone before Cody can even  _ hope _ to find his voice again.

 

It’s Kato who tells Cody, the fourth day into escort duty, that he doesn’t think General Kenobi has been sleeping at all. Cody, who has been  _ hoping _ that the reason he hasn’t been able to find his Jedi all day is because he’s finally sleeping somewhere, is not at all surprised.

He  _ is _ exasperated, though. Because his Jedi vanished too fast, last night, and Cody wants-

He needs to ask some questions. Because the way Kenobi looked at him, the softness in his eyes, the fact that he  _ kissed _ Cody’s  _ hand, _ it all is adding up to something Cody almost can’t let himself believe, even though he wants to. Wants to too much, almost, and a part of him still thinks that maybe he’s letting that  _ want _ influence what he’s seeing, but, well-

Kenobi kissed his hand.

And held him, so soft and gentle, and looked  _ pained _ when Cody asked him to leave, and so maybe- maybe this isn’t so impossible after all. And maybe- Well. If Kenobi is willing to break his Code for Cody, then maybe Cody can break regs for him.

Beyond all that, there’s a second, probably more important reason for Cody’s ire, and that is the fact that his General  _ isn’t sleeping. _

The nightmares are harder for him, Cody knows, because of the Force. But that doesn’t mean his General can just- be a  _ di’kut  _ about it, Jedi need sleep too. The Force doesn’t make up for basic sentient needs.

He tries to comm his General, around midday, because apparently no one’s seen him in the mess yet today, but there’s no answer. Typical Jedi.

Boil teases him a bit, says that Cody’s just lost without his Jedi around to stare at. “KP,” Cody growls, although there’s no real heat behind it - Boil hasn’t been teasing much since they lost Waxer, has been too sad, has been grieving the loss of his  _ riduur. _ “Make sure Elek’s actually washing the dishes.”

“Sir yes sir,” Boil grumbles, throws a sloppy salute and gets up from the table, scowling and muttering to himself in Mando’a as he goes.

Cody smiles a little, to himself, finishes his meal and debates taking one to Kenobi’s rooms. If his General isn’t there he’ll just have wasted the food, and it is possible Kenobi slipped in here without someone noticing.

He’ll give his Jedi until dinner. And then he’s going to find him, make him kriffing  _ eat something, _ and then-

Well. Then they’ll see.

He gives Elek and Boil orders to comm him if they see Kenobi in the mess - as it turns out, the General slips down to grab some food while Cody’s up on the bridge, coordinating their latest drop out of hyperspace (they’re switching hyperlanes here, and then the rest of the time in hyperspace it’s just one straight shot to the new medical base). Boil’s voice is quiet when he speaks into the comm, and Cody notes with some amusement that all the techs are studiously pretending not to listen.  _ “Cody,” _ Boil says,  _ “I have eyes on the target.” _ Well, it’s good to know Boil’s feeling a bit more like himself, at least.  _ “Should I have him followed?” _

“Negative,  _ vod,” _ Cody says, amused. “But do let him know I said if he’s not back in his quarters by 2200 hours, he’ll be in trouble. And yes, I am going to check.”

_ “Orders confirmed,” _ Boil says, in the absolute worst imitation stealth whisper Cody’s ever heard. He’s probably doing it on purpose, the  _ di’kut. _

“Thank you, Boil,” Cody says wryly, and cuts off the comm.

“What kinds of  _ trouble _ are you talking about, sir?” Gadget asks, and Cody gives the tech a  _ look, _ narrowing his eyes at the smug glee on the younger  _ vod’s _ face.

“I’m sure I can think of something appropriate,” he says calmly, does not react to the way Gadget  _ smirks. _

“Something  _ appropriate?” _ he asks. “Are you gonna-”

“One more word,” Cody threatens, and Gadget goes quiet  _ very _ fast, exaggeratedly mimes zipping his lips closed. The  _ di’kut _ is still smirking though, little gods damn it, there’s gonna be rumors all over the battalion by the end of the night.

_ Haar’chak. _

“Don’t worry, sir,” another one of the techs, Griffon, says absently, focused on the screen in front of him. “We all know you’re too uptight to, ah, follow Gadget’s suggestions.”

That’s probably intended to be reassuring?

Instead, it just makes Cody think more on the previous night, on Obi-Wan- on Kenobi kissing his hand and  _ looking _ at him with those  _ damn _ blue eyes, and oh.

Yeah, he really needs to find the General.

He paces the corridors until 2200, finally ends up in front of Kenobi’s door, in just his lower body armor, hands behind his back so he doesn’t fidget. Squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath and steps forward, raises a hand up-

Before he can knock, the door slides open.

His Jedi is sitting cross-legged on his bunk, hands neatly folded in his lap, the picture of calm, although there’s dark circles underneath his eyes and tension lines in his face and his skin is just a shade too pale. “Hello, Cody,” he says quietly, gestures with one hand at the bunk.

Cody takes the silent invitation, crosses the darkened room and sits down, hesitant. Is quiet for a moment, just studying his Jedi’s face, and then, abruptly, he blurts out, “I need to know what- you want from this. Us.”

Obi-Wan’s face softens and he leans forward, just a bit, says, “Cody-” and then pauses, like he’s gathering his thoughts. “Our experiences in Kadavo have made me… reconsider certain truths I’d always believed. And I am tired of- denying myself happiness.” Hope blooms sharp and painful in Cody's chest, and although he _ should, _ he doesn't stamp it down. “To answer your question, my dear… what I want is everything you will give me.”

Cody kisses him.

Maybe he should’ve asked more questions, first; maybe they should’ve talked more, about how this all will  _ work, _ if they’re both committed to seeing it through. But the moment Obi-Wan’s lips touch his, all that falls away.

The kiss is, like Cody has been imagining (dreaming) for so long, bliss.

He pulls back, after a moment, tilts his forehead against Obi-Wan’s, brings one hand up to tentatively slip through his Jedi’s silky copper hair, tangling his fingers a bit, and says, soft,  _ “Ner’jetii.” _

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan says, warm and quiet, and that one word comes terribly close to forcing tears out of Cody’s eyes. He holds them back with an effort, just tilts his head to press another soft kiss to the corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth, slides his free arm around his Jedi’s shoulders and tugs him closer.

For a moment, they just sit, and Cody basks in the closeness of it, the way he feels  _ safe _ for the first time since- before Kadavo (not counting how it’d felt to be held by, and to hold, Obi-Wan), and then he huffs a tiny laugh and says, “Now that we’ve got that out of the way - I actually came here to scold you, Obi-Wan.”

His Jedi snorts. “You want me to sleep more, I’m sure,” he says, lightly, and then sighs. “I’ve tried, Cody, but I- can’t seem to manage the nightmares anymore.”

Cody cards his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair absently, says, “When my  _ vode _ can’t sleep, we sleep together. It- usually helps.” He won’t  _ ask, _ not outright, this is too new and unsure and he doesn’t know what Obi-Wan wants, doesn’t want to mess this up.

“Would you want to?” Obi-Wan asks, almost vulnerable, a not-quite-shaky lilt to his voice that makes something inside Cody melt. “Stay, that is.”

“General,” he says, softly, with a hint of amusement, tilting his head to press a kiss to the very edge of Obi-Wan’s beard, where it meets the soft skin of his face, “there would be no greater honor.”

_ Fin _


End file.
